


Bad Company

by Space_Kitten_from_Planet_Pheromone



Category: Saiyuki
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Office, Alternate Universe - Writing & Publishing, Boss/Employee Relationship, CEO Sanzo/Executive Assistant Goku, M/M, Office Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-13
Updated: 2017-05-02
Packaged: 2018-07-23 17:44:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 89,042
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7473708
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Space_Kitten_from_Planet_Pheromone/pseuds/Space_Kitten_from_Planet_Pheromone
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Constantly on high alert, Genjo Sanzo, the egotistic president of Kinzan Publishing Co., had always derided the threats made on his life. Like hell he cared about that. Putting Son Goku, his ever-optimistic, ever-dogging assistant, in said harm’s way, however, caused the pompous man to seek and spill blood for the first time in his solitary life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Third Saiyuki fic I'll be doing. And a multichaptered one, too! :D

 

“Fuck off.”

Those were the first words that his boss said to him on an early Monday morning.

Goku huffed, but made sure his boss didn’t see his lips curling into a snarl as he bowed and turned to leave, making a mental note not to slam the door on his way out.

“Oh, right. Goku.”

Hearing his name stopped Goku in his tracks, and he turned a wary eye towards his boss. “Yeah? I mean, yes?”

“Steep the rice in green tea next time.”

And Goku left without a word, patting himself on the back for not slamming the door like his hand felt it would. Working in a company ran by the most polemical person he had ever encountered in his young, 18 years of life seemed to be taking its toll on him as he counted down the months since he had been working under his foul-mouthed boss.

Six. Only six months in, and he was ready to throw in the towel.

“Goku! There’s a call on line three for the president,” called one of his coworkers, and Goku hopped back to his duty. And the day rolled by without much incidence until lunch break, when the president called him to his office to get the fifth cup of coffee (the president always took six), and Goku, in his quick but clumsy reflexes, tripped on his shoelaces as soon as he stepped inside and spilled coffee all over his boss’s pristine white suit. The rain of insults to his clumsiness then followed, and a wincing Goku was hurled out of the president’s office to fetch another cup of coffee, wash the ruined suit, and fetch a new one. The door then slammed on his face.

Goku sighed and scratched his unruly mop of brown hair as he wordlessly returned to his cubicle with the dirtied clothes in his arms. A man seated behind him felt pity for Goku and offered help, only to be refused with a smile, and he ran off towards the elevator and pressed the button for the 28th floor, a wide grin still in place. Rocking on the balls of his feet as he hummed, he waited for the soft chime and for the elevator doors to open, and made his way to the president’s flat. Fishing out the card key from his pocket, Goku entered the spacious flat, and went to the laundry room to wash the clothes.

Heaving a sigh of relief, he stretched his arms overhead and dragged his feet back to the pristine white hallway. In the lounge were rather simplistic, yet tranquil decorations all around the spotless flat. A lovely cherry blossom bonsai sat atop of a mahogany side table, and above it, a large, round mirror. Adjacent to it was a small, glass cabinet, kept under lock and key, where a green and silver-coated urn was placed inside. Sitting on top of the cabinet was a picture of a smiling, platinum blond man in his early forties, and on his lap sat a small, blond child dressed in a fluffy robe, frowning and clutching on the man’s suit.

Goku smiled at the picture, and opted to touch it, but did not, in fear of incurring more of his employer’s wrath. He looked at another decoration on the wall, the most noticeable one, and he hummed as he observed the delicate and flowing calligraphy behind the huge glassed frames. A single word written horizontally in Japanese filled the canvas of faded green, a word that his boss had uttered to him from time to time.

 _Muichimotsu_.

Goku tilted his head this way and that, and decided that he couldn’t comprehend his employer’s words. ‘To hold nothing and to be free of everything with no attachment to anyone and anything,’ he had once said to a confused Goku on one occasion, but seeing the sole picture on the table now, Goku decided not to jab his boss about whether he was applying his own words. At certain times of the day, Goku would catch the foul-mouthed man looking off at a distance beyond his office windows, with a cigarette idly burning away between his fingers, brows heavily knotted and lips settled in a permanent frown, and he would only snap from his thoughts the moment Goku would actually enter the room with his not-so-graceful entrance.

Goku did it on purpose every time, just so he could snatch the man away from making that cold expression on his otherwise striking features. The blond didn’t deserve to look so glum all the time, Goku thought.

The washing machine beeped and Goku ran back to the laundry and took care of the clothes, then he jogged off to his employer’s bedroom and rummaged through his quite large wardrobe, and picked out a random suit his hands had caught on—a pair of black pants and a black coat with a deep purple shirt underneath. That would do.

He took a quick look at the bedroom and noted that the bed was neatly arranged, as usual. Nothing out of place. The ashtray sitting near the lampshade was clean for the day. No cigarette butts at the bottom of the bed. No randomly littered cans of beer on the carpeted floor. No jutting chests of drawers beside the bed. The glass windows were kept closed. The heavy curtains were kept shut. The area where his boss usually worked late at night stamping out important documents remained spotless. The books in the shelves near the door were still alphabetically arranged—

Goku nodded to himself, quite pleased that everything was in place.

The warm, inviting caramel-glazed walls gave Goku the urge to sleep on the plush bed, though. However, he stomped on that thought.

He bounded back to the hallway and was about to exit the flat when he heard a small meow from behind him. Turning around, he smiled and saw Tama, his boss’s pet cat, pawing at his feet. He gave the feline a quick pat on the head, “Be back in a couple of hours, Tama. Sanzo will kill me if he’d get out of the office with no decent clothes.” The cat meowed and looked up at him and sat—the perfect image of a patient pet.

With one last look at the flat and at the cat, Goku closed and locked the door and returned to his boss’s office, hastily apologizing with a grin as he was berated for handing in the new clothes too late.

“Hey, puny monkey. I had to look like shit the entire meeting—no, don’t tell me that it was just a quick talk, I still looked like shit—and you forgot my coffee, you little shit.”

Goku was thwacked on his head with today’s newspaper, and ducked for another hit, “But Sanzo, if you looked like shit the entire meeting, then those people you were with were probably even more shit-looking! I mean—they looked creepy!”

Sanzo’s arm stopped midway of batting Goku with the newspaper, and mulled over his assistant’s words. “What are you trying to say?”

“I mean, they’re still shitty-looking while you’d still look 500 times better than them even if you’re wearing a loincloth in a meeting—gah!”

“Stop. Saying. Such. Nonsense,” he drawled with each hit on Goku’s head. Sanzo huffed as he tucked the paper under his arm and stormed off to his desk, and smoked a cigarette as he faced the window.

Goku peered over his arm to check if the coast was finally clear, and when he saw his employer’s back facing him, he felt the urge to close the distance, and to keep him away from distant thoughts.

“Sanzo?”

“Hm?” Sanzo turned around and regarded him with a cocked eyebrow.

And it was times like these when Goku wished time would stop, just so he could look at the profile of that pale face bathed in the setting sun’s warm glow for eternity. He branded the image in his mind, and filed it away and kept it under a heavy lock and key. This expression of Sanzo, his ever brash employer, looking calm and pensive, was a rare sight—he had the very face of a soul hardened by an unspoken past.

He knew he should have resigned the moment he got yelled at for the first time since he worked under this man, but whenever he did think of quitting, with one look at the president, Goku realized—

“Hey, Sanzo. It’s about time to end the day. Could we—”

“Eat out? Sure.”

—he could never leave this man alone.

Goku beamed and bounded his way to Sanzo and roughly fixed the wrinkles in the suit he brought for him, even if he got scolded at for trying to help.

He observed the way Sanzo deftly adjusted his coat and loosened his tie with practiced ease, observed the way he puffed the life out of the cigarette and squished its remains on the ashtray, and he followed him to the door, smiling all the while.

Outside the office, Goku’s coworkers greeted him, some of them afraid to approach him in fear of their boss noticing them. Goku didn’t mind, though. They wouldn’t understand how he could cope with their employer’s explosive temper day in and day out and still manage to genuinely smile at the end of the day.

The employees watched as Goku babbled on to their boss without a trace of fear, and surprisingly enough, their boss didn’t yell profanities at him. Rather, he walked closely with the smaller man, humming at some parts which they think he found interesting. And if anyone dared to take a closer look, one would see the faintest hint of a smile on Genjo Sanzo’s lips as Goku prattled on about the latest discoveries in food and culinary arts.

“—and I want to try this new restaurant where they serve lots of sweets! Hey, can we? Can we?”

“Isn’t that where we’re going, Monkey?”

Goku laughed. Before, the nickname rubbed him the wrong way, often yelling at his boss that he wasn’t such an animal. When the yelling had stopped and decided that arguing wouldn’t go anywhere, Goku couldn’t remember, and decided that only his boss could ruffle and smooth his feathers at the same time.

“Ah, President Genjo,” called one of the secretaries as she approached the man, “Vice President Kanzeon called, said she’d like...” The secretary paused and took out a small notepad and read out, “‘A golden opulence and some cherries in that new restaurant’, she said.”

The president’s eyebrow twitched, “That fucking bitch. Knows my every move as usual. Tell her to fucking suck it the next time she calls. Goku! We’re going.”

The aforementioned yelped upon being called and hastily thanked the secretary in place of the man. The two men left, and left the floor to wonder.

“He will never rest swearing, will he?”

* * *

 

The president and his assistant sat at the far edge of the restaurant, away from prying eyes and sharp ears. They stood out enough as it is, and it was all because of Sanzo’s assistant practically breathing in every dish in the restaurant. On Goku’s twenty-fourth plate of food, Sanzo finally blurted out the insane amount he would pay at the end of the meal, and Goku merely laughed at his employer’s annoyance.

“But you have a lot of cash to burn, Sanzo.”

“That doesn’t mean you should spend it like it’s yours, puny chimp.”

Idle conversation flowed throughout their meal, the topics mostly from the company’s work for tomorrow. Kinzan Publishing Co. boasted some of the most successful books of the past four decades through strict discipline and expert editorial advice and ideas between the author and the staff. Founded by a family with a devout Buddhist faith, Kinzan’s lines of bestsellers were usually of one subject—religion. However, since the death of the 30th president, the company was forced onto Genjo Sanzo, who was of the right age to take the burdens of the company.

And now at 23, Genjo Sanzo, one with a very liberal mindset that differed from his Buddhist associates, broke the norm as soon as he took the company’s reins four years prior, setting new genres into the shelves of the publishing house and into the shelves of the nation’s bookshops—genres of sensitive topics too shameful to talk of in public, books riddled with worldly wants, books that tackled too many of the imagination of the human mind, both in fiction and in non-fiction—and these new books brought in a large slew of writers and clients to their doorstep, and in a short time, Kinzan became a household name about the people with liberal minds.

“Our bill, if you please,” grumbled Sanzo towards the waitress that stared at him too much. Sanzo took no notice of it, as was the norm, and huffed on a cigarette instead. “You have your fill now?”

Goku nodded and grinned as he patted his stomach, “Yeah. Thanks for the meal. Ah, don’t forget what your aunt wanted—”

“She can get it herself, like hell I’ll buy a ridiculously expensive ice cream for her whims,” he grunted. “Plus, she could just order her lackey around—that old man what’s-his-name—Jiroushin.” Sanzo stubbed the cigarette butt on the ashtray as soon as the waitress returned his credit card and stood up, mumbling forced thanks and calling Goku to go with him. “You forgot to feed the cat earlier, didn’t you?”

“Uh, yeah. You were already pissed at me enough as it was when I was late.”

“Hmph.”

They returned to the building at sundown, and Goku greeted the doormen with usual cheer as Sanzo merely raised his brows in a vague greeting. Inside the president’s flat, Goku immediately fed the cat and apologized to it, and he hurdled around the apartment in a flurry, fussing over the small details and kept the place as tidy as Sanzo wanted it to be, while the president lounged around the sitting room and read the business section of the evening newspaper.

“‘Godworks Publishing House Expands Again’, huh. Feh,” Sanzo placed the paper on the sofa and plopped on it, leaning his head against the plushness of the couch. An upside-down view of Goku vacuuming the kitchen floor with much focus greeted his sight, and Sanzo fought back a smile. “Hey, Monkey. After you’re done with that, you can go to your floor.”

Goku stopped in his cleaning and looked at the man, “Eh? Could you repeat that? The vacuum was loud.”

Sanzo’s brows curled and he frowned, “…Never mind.” And he closed his eyes to feign sleep, ignoring Goku’s pleas to repeat what the man said earlier.

* * *

“In the end, I ended up sleeping on your couch again. Ugh.” Goku whined as his back cracked with every move he made towards the office floor, and Sanzo hummed in agreement and idly checked his nails as the office doors opened.

“Oh, right. I forgot to mention that that couch could be made into a bed.”

Silence reigned, and Goku stared at the president’s retreating back with a gaping mouth, and felt a rush of irritation at this new information.

“…The fuck? Why are you saying that now, you lousy boss!”

“Fuck off, you didn’t ask for its other functions.”

“Wha—! No, no. You fuck off for not telling me what it can and cannot do!”

“Ah? Is that the way to talk to the guy who gives you your paycheck, you little ingrate?”

“Gah! Stop pinching my cheek! My salary’s not enough to feed me for a week!”

“That’s because you devour every piece of morsel you fucking see on the streets before you could even save a fucking cent! And what are you complaining about? You live an easy life right below my flat, punk!”

Banters and pointing fingers flew on an early morning, and the employees scattered about, steering clear from their president and his assistant. How Goku managed not to get fired for openly cursing at his boss on a daily basis was a mystery to them. If the person who cursed the boss were anyone other than Goku, that person would have been sent to the morgue in seconds flat.

“Come to think of it, Goku,” the president shuffled papers from his black leather briefcase, “new clients will show up today. Plus there’s a really persistent guy wanting to meet up with me after lunch. Says it’s urgent and shit. Remind me on that.”

Their insult-throwing ended up in an abrupt manner and Goku, suddenly no longer looking offended at the change of topic, accepted the papers and saluted the president with a sudden grin. “Look over these papers of new clients and remind you of this really persistent guy wanting to meet you at lunch. Got it.” Sanzo nodded, huffed, and turned away, and Goku called him back. “By the way, Sanzo. You’re looking less grumpy today,” and Goku ran off to his cubicle, which wasn’t much of a distance from the president's office.

“Tch. Senseless monkey,” he mumbled and locked himself in his office.

Goku hummed and busied himself with work, and a coworker from beside his cubicle tapped him on the shoulder. Goku greeted him with a smile, “Hi, Jien. What’s up?”

Jien, a black-haired guy from the legal department, blinked at Goku’s seemingly permanent sunny disposition, and sighed. “I don’t know how you handle him everyday. Why are you here yet? Wait, let me rephrase that. How come he hasn’t fired you yet for yelling at him everyday? I mean, he’s the owner of this entire company and you’re just his assistant—no offense, man—but damn, you call him by his first name and you go off on him everyday like it’s no big deal. One time an intern called him by his first name on accident, and he was banned from this place because the intern was being ‘disrespectful’. But you call him whatever name you please and you’re still here and still sane after all his verbal abuse for six months. What’s your secret?”

Goku blinked and said the first thing on his mind, “I have no intention of leaving his side, that’s what.” And Goku swiveled in his chair and skimmed over the papers that the president gave to him, “Besides, I’m his what, eighth? Ninth? Tenth, I think, assistant in line, or so what I hear. No one lasted with him for more than three days, I heard. The interns had it the worst, always crying at lunch for being yelled and cursed at.”

“Yeah, and six months is a record. You should be the employee of the year for putting up with him everyday.”

Goku laughed, “Though a banquet would be better—ah. Five clients today, I see. Hm, and this guy… Ah, Jien. Do you think this is a tattoo? On his face?”

Jien looked over at a mugshot of a young man with pale blond hair, and a noticeable brown patch on his right eye. “Pretty sure that’s a birthmark or something.”

Goku scratched his head and turned the picture over, on it was an attached sticky note with the distinctive handwriting from his boss: ‘the really persistent punk’, and he nodded as he pinned the picture on his small corkboard to remind his boss of this ‘persistent punk’ later.

Lunchtime rolled by, and Goku rapped on the president’s door and peered inside. “Sanzo, I’m here to remind you of that really persistent punk who wanted to meet up with you, he’s waiting in the lobby. Ah, reading newspapers again? You’re really an old man.”

“Shut it, Monkey,” the president growled, and placed the newspaper on his desk. He stood up and Goku entered the room, locking the door shut as he did so. “How many are with him?”

“He’s alone, from the looks of it,” Goku observed as he went over to Sanzo to smooth out the man’s maroon coat. “But we can never be too sure. Do you have it with you?”

“Feh. What kind of question is that, idiot? Of course I have it. I always do,” Sanzo shrugged and patted the inside of his coat, and felt a small but heavy chunk of metal hidden inside a holster.

“Sometimes I worry if that thing will randomly go off and you’ll end up shooting yourself in the ribs,” Goku commented, staring at Sanzo’s coat as though trying to see through it. “It’ll be a funny incident to tell the doctor, don’t you think?”

Sanzo snorted, “Some morbid humor you got there, Monkey.”

Goku stuck his tongue out and grinned, “That’s because I got it from you, stingy boss.”

“Bah. Watch who you’re calling stingy, you bottomless pit.”

Goku merely gave him the finger and smoothed out the president’s clothes one last time, “There. All good. Shall I call on Gojyo?”

“Nah. It’ll only hinder my otherwise peaceful day. Besides, I gave him the week off, it’s good for my ears.”

“Shall I call on Jien, then? He’s also good with this guarding thing.”

“No need. You’re enough.”

Goku bowed down and hid the flush threatening to stain his cheeks. “I’m enough, huh…”

Sanzo hummed and noticed his assistant’s sudden bashful behavior, “Of course you are, idiot. I wouldn’t keep you with me if you weren’t.”

And hearing those words made Goku beam with pride. “Thanks, Sanzo.”

“Hn.”

And they made their way to the lobby, where they met up with a strange man with a birthmark on the right side of his face. A frowning Sanzo sat opposite of the smiling man, while Goku stood by Sanzo’s right side, his golden eyes fixated upon the unknown figure sitting in front of him.

“Well? Cut to the chase. What’s your purpose here?” snarled Sanzo, and his frown deepened as he was answered with a bubbling laugh.

“My, my. Such a no-nonsense man you are, President Genjo. And to think that the rumors are still very true—that you are quite rude to everyone.”

Sanzo’s fingers twitched on the armrests, and Goku glanced at the president with a wary eye. “I don’t give a fuck what others think. Well? Did you come all the way here just to pester me? Because I’ve got shit to do and I’d rather spend my day free from pests.”

The odd man covered his face with another giggle—one that was starting to grate on Sanzo’s ears by the looks of it—and he bowed in his seat, “I, Kami, am working under Godworks Publishing. You have heard of it, yes? We’ve been in the industry on par with yours, and I’d like to speak about a few suggestions on how the companies we’re both working in will benefit us for the greater good—”

“Whoa, whoa. Slow down there, Spot.”

Kami stopped in his words and his eyes narrowed in a sharp glare at Sanzo’s austere air. “‘Spot’?”

“Yeah, Spot.” Goku swallowed down his bubbling laughter as Sanzo spoke, “Last time I checked, my company is in a pretty good shape and I am having no plans on merging it with another company. Got it?”

“But I have yet to say my suggestions—”

Sanzo, who was now scratching the inside of his ear with his pinky, huffed in annoyance, “I don’t need to hear it. Go bother another company for all I care.” He fished out a cigarette from his coat pocket and smoked. “So? I see you work in that place now. Why are you seeking solace there and suddenly come crawling back here?”

Goku blinked as he stood still with his hands placed firmly behind his back, filing away the new information for later questions to his employer.

“Ah, I see the president remembered me.”

“No shit. You were that kid with the fraudulent façade who used to follow me around like some lost puppy. That Ukoku’s adoptive son, right?”

Kami looked away from Sanzo’s inquiring purple gaze, “Why, yes I am his adoptive son, President. Kind to me, he is. I used to follow you around this building, but not anymore.” He stood up and gritted his teeth, gray eyes burning at Sanzo’s unfazed demeanor, and he pointed a finger at him, “Not since you fired me from a mistake I didn’t even mean—ah!”

A steely-eyed Goku jumped in front of Kami, his hands clawed at his sides and ready to attack the man at any moment. “Look, I dunno who you are or what you did to warrant a pink slip from Kinzan, but heaven forbid, if you badmouth or lay even a finger on Sanzo, you’re dead.”

Kami stood frozen in place, and looked at the smaller man, to the calm Sanzo, and back. From around him, eyes start to zoom in on his figure. “Hah. I see the president has gotten finally himself a loyal pet—”

“Fuck off. One more word and I’ll break your teeth.”

“ _Goku_.”

The golden-eyed young man glanced at Sanzo, and let out an almost animalistic growl in notice.

“Stand down.”

Goku’s nostrils flared upon being told to step back, but did as he was told, and returned to stand beside Sanzo with bared teeth and an open glare.

Sanzo sighed and stubbed the cigarette in the ashtray, “Whoever put you up to this task, tell them this: I don’t need a fucking parasite gnawing on my company. Goku, escort this fellow outside—”

“No need, _President_. I know my way out,” Kami retorted in a snarl, and Goku was about to make a comment when—

“I know you know. You did become quite familiar with disgraceful exits since you were here, didn’t you?”

—Sanzo took the comeback from Goku’s mind, and Goku snorted as the doormen approached Kami, and he wordlessly hauled himself out of the lobby, and gave one last insult to Kinzan's CEO, one that Sanzo dismissed with a wave of a hand.

Once out from their sight, Goku howled in laughter while Sanzo merely huffed a small chuckle, and when both calmed down, Goku jogged over to the receptionist and ordered a memo to ban Kami from the company’s premises. Once done, he returned to Sanzo’s side and offered a trip back to the office, to which the latter accepted with a vague nod.

Goku let Sanzo take the lead to the elevator, and just as when Goku was about to join him inside, the yells and hurried footfalls of the doormen and several employees echoed in the lobby, screaming about stopping someone, and Kami’s figure suddenly appeared behind a startled Goku—

“I just realized, President Genjo—”

—and Kami aimed a gun at a wide-eyed Sanzo—

“—I don’t take rejections too lightly.”

—and shot the golden-eyed young man who had shielded Kinzan’s CEO.

“ _Goku!_ ”

* * *

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Am I the only one who noticed Sanzo and Goku's fixation on each other's hands? I mean, the official art had some pictures of them holding hands and I just can't even—they're adorable, okay?

 

It wasn’t the first time that incidents happened to Kinzan. This was a regular occurrence from rival companies, after all—but this was the first time that Genjo Sanzo had to deal with a fellow worker struggling with his life because of neglect.

Sanzo should have seen it coming, but _no_ , he became too lax and too open, and it resulted in this fiasco. Everything was a blur after seeing Goku drop to the floor. Sanzo made sure the elevator doors were open so it wouldn’t accidentally crush Goku in half. He remembered yelling, but didn’t know what he had yelled. He had Kami captured, summoned Gojyo, his bodyguard, and screamed for an ambulance when Sanzo saw the blood pooling on his hands and to the floor.

Sanzo glared at the swinging doors of the ICU and chewed on his unlit cigarette after a nurse berated him for smoking in the waiting area in Hakkai’s hospital. The blond knew that his assistant would be all right, he was under Hakkai’s care, after all.

And if Goku died in there? Sanzo would drag him back, anyway—mentally, he supposed. The blond didn’t want to feel insane again.

His eyes kept darting to the wall clock that seemed to mock him with every tick of the second hand, reminding him that the only thing he could do was to fumble with his thumbs and wait. And so he paced around, fingers itching to light his cigarette, and he broke the cylinder in half in frustration. He slumped back on the seat and listened to nothing and everything. The idle talk of the nurses from the corner irked him, the ticking of the clock drove him restless, the shoes clopping on the floors made him want to punch someone—

“Ah, Sanzo. You’re still awake.”

Sanzo twitched as he looked at the man that exited the ICU. With dark brown hair, sporting glasses and a face mask, and wearing a pale green buttondown and dark slacks underneath a faintly, blood-splattered lab coat, the doctor smiled at the tense blond hunched over the edge of a chair.

“Is he awake, Hakkai?” Sanzo muttered, opting not to ask about the minute details such as how much of Goku’s blood was on Hakkai’s clothes.

“Barely. He couldn’t speak at the moment because of the anesthesia, but he could hear his surroundings, I suppose. The bullet hit his rib—fortunately, no vitals were damaged. He did need a few stitches after the bullet was removed, and he had a concussion from falling to the floor.” Hakkai took note of the apparent tired, violet eyes that looked past him. It was now nighttime; a few hours prior to getting a call from Kinzan, Hakkai was about to retire for the day. A collected, yet edgy call from the prideful Sanzo meant something was completely wrong. The blond only managed a few words out, and the most that Hakkai had made out were, ‘Goku. Shot.’ And Hakkai went over to Kinzan immediately.

Sanzo stood up and zipped past Hakkai with large strides, an unlikely gesture from the usually aloof man. Hakkai never asked about the blond’s relation to Goku, or how the two met prior to being an employer and employee, but he did know that Goku would have to be one strong individual to be able to rattle emotion other than anger out of Sanzo.

“Sanzo” and “emotion” could never be put in the same sentence until now.

Hakkai smiled to himself and went off to clean the blood.

Inside the room that reeked of anesthetics and things that Sanzo couldn’t name, he found Goku lying on the bed—asleep—breathing softly underneath the flimsy, blue blanket and equally flimsy blue, hospital robe. The blond’s feet dragged heavily onto a nearby chair, and he plopped on it, relief that he would never dare admit flooding his body. Goku looked small on the hospital bed, and on instinct, Sanzo reached out to the sleeping young man, and ruffled the brown locks—

—and Sanzo, after feeling adrenaline leave him, could finally welcome sleep, and he slumbered beside Goku. It wouldn’t be after an hour when Hakkai returned to check on his patient, only to find Sanzo sleeping on the chair beside Goku, his head resting against his arm on the bed, with his other hand gripping tightly around Goku’s wrist, as though making sure that he still had a pulse.

“Well, this is something you don’t see every day,” Hakkai mumbled with a smile—and he secretly took a picture of the two, and saved it to his phone, putting it in an album entitled, Companions. “...Better not let Gojyo see this one.”

* * *

 

The view from Sanzo’s apartment was lovely, as Goku had always observed. Deep purples and bright oranges and reds painted the sunset sky, and he stretched out his hand in a vain attempt to reach out to it.

“Such a beautiful sky...”

“Well, if you’re fine enough to make remarks about the heavens, I guess you’re good enough to feed yourself.”

Goku craned his neck from the bed, and saw Sanzo by the doorway with a tray of food in his hands. He grinned at the sight of food. “You made all of that? For me? ...Is the world ending today?”

“Shut the fuck up and feed yourself.”

Goku heaved himself to sit up and tried to laugh, only to end up wincing as he clutched his ribs and forced out his words, “How long until I can move around?” He automatically reached out to the proffered small table with reheated food (Goku could tell, his boss couldn’t cook, after all), and Sanzo sighed and went over to the bed, placing the tray in front of the brunet, and sat beside him. The brunet had been staying in Sanzo’s place for almost two weeks now—he refused to leave Goku alone in his flat below. Who knows what reckless things the young man would do in his absence? Sanzo wouldn’t have any of that.

“Hakkai said you’ll take at least four weeks until you can move around. I gave your workload to Jien for the meantime.”

Goku opened his mouth for a retort, and Sanzo cut him off with a curt, “If you’re asking about that, we had the fucker caught that day and is now under Gojyo’s ‘care’. He kicked the guy a few times before he ended up spluttering while saying something about getting a nuisance during his week off because I called at night. Heh. For all I know, he’s fucking showing off his new steel boots as usual.”

Goku’s lips twitched at the image of the arrogant redhead kicking Kami in the face. “...oh. That’s good. I’ll go there once I’m healed enough and rip Spot a new one.”

He asked about the reason why Kami was fired from Kinzan, and Sanzo explained it to him—about how Kami used to be a managing editor, and how he approved of a manuscript that he didn’t check was plagiarized from another writer. “Kinzan had to get fucking returns of all the copies distributed to the stores. In the end, it was all because of his shitty pride that he refused to take responsibility. He kept blaming it on others, saying that the other editors should take the blame, too. But that’s not how the company works. So I fired the shitpile there and then.”

Goku nodded, choosing not to say anything as he ate. And then—“Well, I think you did right, then. Putting others on the chopping block to keep your head safe is not a good sign of an employee in Kinzan, or anywhere else, I think.”

Sanzo hummed in response, and he listened to Goku’s labored breathing as he ate, their eyes cast away from another as the ticking clock passed by. And it took a while before Sanzo’s lips slowly curled into a smirk, and sniggered, his shoulders quivering as whispers of mirth bubbled from the edges of his lips, and Goku looked at Sanzo’s back strangely.

“What’s so funny?” he asked as he chewed on a fried chicken leg he stabbed with a fork, and slurped on soup at the same time, and Sanzo snorted out his laughter even more.

“Remember that thing you joked about me being accidentally shot in the ribs by my own gun?”

Goku blinked and thought for a moment, before gaping his mouth and letting out a loud, “Ah!” and yelled at his morbid boss for laughing at his injured assistant.

Sanzo’s barely heard laughter slowly faded away once Goku had finished eating with the same voracious speed, and he looked at Goku’s chagrined expression with concealed amusement. The brunet lied back on the plush mattress and pouted. On reflex, the blond reached out to ruffle Goku’s disheveled brown hair, and waited for him to fall asleep, his hand not leaving his tousled locks until he did so.

In Goku’s mental dictionary of Sanzo sign language, it was the man’s shy way of saying his thanks for saving his life.

Sanzo waited until Goku’s breathing evened out, and only then did he stop ruffling the brown mop of hair. Staring at his assistant’s profile, he noticed a golden chain around Goku’s neck, and Sanzo huffed.

“Still wearing that, I see.”

And he took away the empty tray of bowls and plates, leaving Goku alone in Sanzo’s bed.

* * *

 

At night in the president’s office, a redhead toyed with a lighter in his hands, and frowned at the sight of bloodied boots on Sanzo’s attire. “Hey, Boss.”

Sanzo leaned against a chair, one blood-dampened and boot-clad foot crossed over the other, reading tonight’s paper with a cup of green tea. “What?”

“You could have, you know, cleaned off that blood before you went out.”

“Feh. You kicked the guy into unconsciousness. I only nudged him because he wouldn’t look at me properly, that’s when I got the blood. Good thing I had heard enough.”

The redhead grinned, “Yes, I did kick him. He was the reason I am wide awake and got called from my week off. So not cool. What’s up with the guy, though? Telling you that someone thinks you’re being a hindrance? Then again, you’re always a hindrance.” He forced a laugh, and observed the grim look on the president’s face, knotted brows and clenched jaws almost taking a permanent residence on the 23-year-old’s countenance. He surmised the reason and stifled a cough and a chortle. “If you’re asking about the little shrimp, he ate and went to bed, though he really wanted to get up and go to the ninth floor to rip, uh, ‘Spot’ a new one, were his words.”

Sanzo huffed that sounded like a concealed laugh, “Is that so. Better leave some unmarred space for the monkey to take over, then. Gojyo, you’re dismissed.”

And just like that, the deep lines on the CEO’s face vanished in an instant, and Gojyo, noticing the sudden change in Sanzo’s demeanor, howled in laughter. “You could have just said that you were relieved—hey! Stop aiming that gun at me!”

* * *

In the wee hours of the morning, Sanzo returned to his flat to see Goku, dressed in only Sanzo’s spare buttondown shirt that fell loose on one shoulder— _raided my closet again, I see_ —hobbling around the kitchen with a big grin on his face. On the dining table was an assortment of foods—turkey legs, mashed potatoes, fried beans, clam chowder, a bowl of mayonnaise, a pack of beer, and Sanzo’s favored rice steeped in green tea. Sanzo blinked.

“The fuck did these come from?”

Goku looked up from the boiling kettle of green tea and beamed even wider, “Ah, Sanzo! I ransacked your kitchen, hope you don’t mind.”

The blond raised his brow, and sat on a chair, letting the aromas of the food waft his nose, “Too late for me to comment on it, right. So, what’s the occasion?”

Goku turned off the stove, poured two cups of tea and brought them over to the table. Sitting down, he regarded Sanzo with the same blinding grin, “Nothing much, just saying my thanks for letting me stay here, even though you could have let me stay in my flat just a floor below.”

“…You do know I don’t eat much, right?”

“I know. I’ll help you with it!”

Sanzo grumbled something about bottomless pits, and began to eat, which cheered Goku up. “Did you beat him up real good? Because I see blood on your pants.”

Sanzo remained silent, and drank tea. Expecting a reply, Sanzo sighed and glanced at his assistant, “Not my doing. That was Gojyo’s. I merely didn’t want to get blood on my hands when I talked to the guy.”

“So you chose your boots instead.”

“Hn.”

Goku chowed on the soup, and handed him the bowl of mayonnaise, “Here, I know how much you like this stuff.”

Sanzo stared at the bowl of mayonnaise, blinked, and then looked at Goku, “Cut the crap. You need to get more rest.”

“Eh… But Sanzo, I _am_ resting. Food is my rest time.”

A twitch of a smile made its way to Sanzo’s lips as he closed his eyes, accepted the bowl of mayonnaise and put it to his side, and sipped his tea, “So I see.” He took a spoonful of the green tea rice and chewed, highly aware of Goku observing him.

“Well? Do you like it?”

“Hn, it’s good enough.”

“I’m glad—I finally made something that you approve of.”

They ate in relative silence, broken only by the sound of clinking glasses on the table and utensils on plates. Once done, Goku heaved and patted his stomach, saying his thanks for the food. Sanzo rose from the table and put the empty plates and glasses on the sink, to which Goku noticed. “Ah, I’ll clean it up, you can go to rest.”

“…I’m good. It’s not like I haven’t done this in my life.”

Goku hummed, and observed the way Sanzo’s arms moved, deft hands scrubbing over the plates with suds. The man looked elegant no matter what small of a thing he did, Goku thought as he looked at the man’s white nape, his sights trailing over the broad shoulders, tracing the invisible lines that defined the scarred back, his eyes locking onto the lean arms and the oddly petite waist that the man had—

—and before he knew it, Goku went over behind the blond, his golden eyes boring into the man’s back.

“What is it,” came the quiet voice, and Sanzo stopped washing the dishes when he felt hands clutching onto the back of his suit. “Hey, Monkey, what are you playing at—”

He stopped short at the unruly mop of brown hair huddled onto his back. Sanzo tried to coax him to stop, but Goku stayed still, not moving and speaking, and Sanzo let go of the sponge and patted his hands dry on his pants, and tried to maneuver around to stroke the already ruffled locks. Goku stirred a bit, and moved to look at the man when he felt a calloused thumb brush against his cheek. He closed his eyes to the damp and cool touch of the fingers on his skin, and his lips instinctively parted in full compliance.

“Goku…”

Goku’s brows furrowed, and his hands pressed firmly over Sanzo’s, planting it in place, and his lips parted a bit wider, and a hidden urge took over as the blond’s thumb slid inside Goku’s mouth, the latter welcoming it with a succulent greeting from a pliant tongue.

Around and around the thumb the tongue went, wetting it and getting it accustomed to the warmth inside Goku’s mouth, and Sanzo could only stare, his violet eyes fixated on the sight, and he swallowed a groan, and his feet backed away a little from the younger man, and the latter followed until Sanzo felt the sink behind him.

Beneath fluttering purple eyes, Sanzo saw the developing jawlines that cradled a dirty mouth, the bobbing Adam’s apple that housed a voice that was both screechy and sultry to his ears, and the jutting collarbones that peeked from beneath the shirt that Goku chose to wear from his closet. He took notice of the younger man’s tanned skin, how it contrasted against his own paleness. His eyes fell to the ever-present gold chain clinging around Goku’s neck like a second skin, and felt a surge of something remotely akin to delight flow inside him.

Sanzo had given him the necklace, after all.

It wasn’t something special, he said to himself, it was a precious metal made into jewelery, but—

Goku wrapped his mouth around the blond’s thumb, and lightly sucked, his golden eyes now wide and unfocused at Sanzo’s guarded façade. Goku weakly pulled his head back, and started to bob his head around Sanzo’s thumb.

When had he started getting feelings for this man? Goku was loud and incessant and reckless and constantly hungry—all things that Sanzo were not. He vowed to make no attachments to anyone at a very young age, when he saw what divorce could do to a family. He had always been petrified at the thought that he might end up like his no-good father, who left his mother in tatters, to the point of death. It was then that young Sanzo had realized that a heart had to be made of steel in order to live in this cruel world.

Goku, seeing a distant look in Sanzo’s eyes, nipped the thumb in his mouth, and Sanzo’s eye twitched, and Goku was observed once more.

When did I start getting feelings for this monkey again, Sanzo wondered. Was it during the time they met as children with foster parents? As teenagers? As fellow workers?

Sanzo observed Goku’s movements—languid, precise, with an ardent need to please him. He observed the way he kept seeing bits of the brunet’s teeth peeking from his mouth as his thumb was sucked. He observed the way those golden eyes kept glancing at him, wordlessly begging for attention with each brush of a finger against his hands. He observed the way Goku’s eyes fluttered close, and peppered his hand with kisses that barely brushed against his skin, and when it did, the kisses were soft and tickled his fingertips with the feeling of warm air ghosting over the back of his hand.

Goku turned over Sanzo’s hand and placed a lingering kiss on his wrist, feeling the thrum of the pulse against his lips—

—and mauve eyes slid close, and Sanzo’s lips shuddered and parted at the caress of the touch on his skin.

The brunet could practically hear the man’s crumbling resolve through the barely audible gulp, the soft sigh, and the soundless gasp that followed, and Goku returned to Sanzo’s thumb, engulfing it in his mouth, and when he felt the digit start to ruck, he removed it with a small and sloppy pop, and licked the thumb one last time before mustering a lazy grin to Sanzo.

“Say, Sanzo—”

Goku released Sanzo’s hand and splayed his palms on the blond’s chest, and felt the hammering of a clad heart beneath the flimsy, white fabric—and he nudged a firm knee between the blond’s thighs. Sanzo’s eyes shot open and he went rigid, and ignored the sound of water behind him, the liquid now seeping on the hems of his suit, and he let his face get pulled close to the shorter man’s lips.

He felt Goku’s smile on his jaw, and when teeth explored his neck with a vicious bite, Sanzo gasped, his eyes closing once more—

—they really shouldn’t be doing this. ‘Don’t be attached,’ remember? What happened to that—

“Sanzo.”

—this was wrong on many levels—

“Sanzo.”

—when did teeth feel good on skin?

“ _Sanzo._ ”

The blond felt rough and clawed hands with a mission to carry out, tugging on his damp suit to his elbows with a hiss, and Sanzo relished a playful whisper that crept to his ears with hidden malice.

“— _the sink is about to overflow._ ”


	3. Chapter 3

It was wrong. Everything was fucking wrong. And he knew it was fucking wrong, but did he listen? Fuck no, he didn’t.

But that didn’t stop Sanzo from actually stopping Goku once they were about to cross the bridge they were about to burn with their hands that were currently fanning on each other’s heated skin.

“Goku, let’s not. You’re still on recovery, idiot,” the blond managed to grunt from his too strained voice, glad at himself for not being emotionally dragged around by this young man that whined at the loss of the contact of skin against lips. They were in the bed now, with Goku beneath Sanzo, and the pale man heaved a sigh, and Goku followed in lament. The brunet didn’t say anything, save for a minute pout and eyes that begged for some physical contact. And Sanzo acquiesced, he realized, as he had always been when it came to this infuriating person. He leaned his forehead to Goku’s and looked straight into his eyes, “Not yet.” And he placed a kiss on the tanned, young man’s brow.

With that, Goku looked saddened for a moment, only to smile again when he looped his arms around the blond’s neck. “Thanks.”

That night, they slept, as comfortably as they could, in each other’s company—Goku, making sure he didn’t jolt around too much and accidentally elbow Sanzo’s face, and Sanzo, making sure he wouldn’t accidentally elbow Goku’s ribs.

Everything would be fine, they mused.

* * *

 

Goku stretched his arms overhead and leaned back on his swivel chair, whining for lunch. Today’s work really piled up due to the shooting incident a few weeks ago, and it only fueled publicity to Kinzan’s already booming popularity.

“Goku, we’re having lunch, care to join with us?” asked Jien, who was now by the door with Yaone, the kind and polite girl from the sales department.

“You go ahead, I’ll have lunch later. I’ll have to be on double time for my absences, and help you with my work that was supposed to be mine,” Goku grinned as he scratched his nape. “Besides, if I submit these late, the boss will be the one to shoot me this time.”

Jien laughed and waved, leaving Goku in his cubicle. Goku hummed along as he typed memos away on his PC, creaking his neck every few minutes, and waited until the last person closed the office door and left for lunch. Amber eyes then darted to the wall clock, the numbers pointing at twelve. He stood up and stretched once more, idly glancing around him to see if anyone were around, and seeing none, he walked over to the president’s office, knocked once, and entered with practiced ease.

“Hey, Sanzo, time to eat lunch.”

Sanzo didn’t look up from the documents he stamped, and gave a reply with an offhanded, “Wait in a bit.”

Goku shrugged and closed the door, and walked over to Sanzo’s desk and sat near the man’s left arm, his eyes scanning over the pile of papers that were almost done. “How many more?”

“Probably five more before—hey.”

“Hm?”

Sanzo cocked an eyebrow at a wide-eyed and seemingly innocent Goku leaning a bit too close to his ear, along with winding his arms around his neck. He sighed, and turned his attention to the documents in his hand. “What did I tell you about not bothering me when I’m working?”

“But I’m not, am I?”

“Yes you are.”

Goku jutted his lips, miffed, and nibbled on the blond’s ear. “If you really don’t want me to, at least let me go there.”

Sanzo didn’t look up from the papers, “Now?”

“Yes, now. It’s been a week and I promised myself I’ll rip that guy a new one.”

Sanzo set aside the papers and regarded Goku with attention, “You want to go now?” Goku nodded, and Sanzo patted him on the head. “Don’t get shot.”

Goku grinned, and went off, but not before hazardously pecking Sanzo on the cheek, leaving the blond stunned.

The door closed once more, and Sanzo was left in his thoughts, thoughts of how everything turned to what they were now, and only in a span of a few days. He had known Goku for five years now, and had only recently became Goku’s employer, and this type of development was something that he had not once thought of.

Or maybe he had—like the rare times he mentally buried thoughts of wanting more than simply ruffling the brunet’s hair.

Last night was a great aversion of a disaster-to-be. He didn’t want what little of a barrier he had between him and Goku to come crumbling down at a mere gesture of undulating of hips against a too willing crotch. No. He was much more in control than that. Plus, he didn’t want an unwanted visit to the hospital again because of Goku’s healing wounds suddenly bursting open if they had done something quite hot and heavy. Sanzo would never hear the end of it from Hakkai.

He sighed, and decided that nothing had changed between him and his assistant—or maybe something had changed, creeping its way to their insides, waiting for these troublesome things called feelings and temptation to rear their ugly heads.

* * *

Goku rocked on his heels as he waited for the elevator to reach the floor where Kami was held captive. Grinning, he toyed with his necklace, feeling the coldness of the metal against his skin. The necklace was a present—of sorts—from Sanzo, well, recalling the events of which he was given that necklace, the appropriate term should be—

“…‘Vice President intimidating her nephew into buying me a present because I outlasted all the other assistants that the president had,’ huh.” Goku pressed his lips, trying and failing to stifle a wide smile. He and Sanzo might not have bonded over in the most intimate way possible last night, but it was all right, he mused, “As long as Sanzo is still Sanzo.” Sanzo wouldn’t be Sanzo if he gave in easily, right? Right.

“Sanzo will come around in time,” Goku smiled to himself.

The elevator doors opened, and he roamed the vast, almost empty floor, hearing nothing but the whirs of exhaust fans, the humming of the fluorescent lights, and his own footsteps. Once he reached the end of the corridor, he saw a solitary, familiar figure armed with a rifle leaning by a single door. “Hey, Gojyo!” he yelled out to the redhead guarding the door that Goku supposed was the room that contained Kami, “is he still there? I want to beat him up for trying to break my ribs.”

Gojyo, stubbing out a cigarette on the floor, smirked at the younger man, and laid down his rifle to ruffle Goku’s hair. “Hey, hey, hey. You’re too young to go into a rampaging vengeance trip, shrimp. Been hanging out with His Highness and got his grumpiness rubbed on you?”

Goku aimed a kick at Gojyo’s shins, and he ignored the redhead’s string of curses, “None of your business, red cockroach. Just because you’re a one-man army doesn’t mean I can’t pull on your antennae. I want to see Spot.”

Gojyo’s nose flared at the insult, but begrudgingly raised his hands in a mock surrender. It was no use fighting to a kid, he thought. “Alright, alright, I get your point. _Spot_ is in there, probably pissing, but you know, he might bite back.”

Goku huffed and stuck his tongue out at the redhead, who, in turn, lifted the finger at him. Goku entered the room and saw a strange sight—a drafty room dyed in faded blue, calm and silent, with the overwhelming stench of disinfectants wafting around the walls, and the faintest smell of blood hanging in the air. A window was left open to let the cool air in, its flimsy curtains serving little purpose to block the sunlight. In the middle of the room was a hunched figure on the floor, chewing over a modest amount of food on a tray—

“Hey, Kami.”

The hunched figure raised his head, and regarded Goku with a blank expression and a faint, mocking smile. “Came to get your revenge, weakling?”

Goku wrinkled his nose, the smell of disinfectant stuck close to Kami’s skin. Not yet. He couldn't land a punch yet, not when his questions haven’t been answered. “Why are you trying to kill Sanzo?”

At this, Kami sneered, and put down the cup of water he was drinking. His eyes never met Goku’s as he spoke, “This question again—I told you, it’s because your boss is being a hindrance—”

“To whom are we being a hindrance?” Goku retorted, and mentally took note of the defiant way he said ‘we’.

“Your boss is being a hindrance to _my_ boss, and I cannot allow that.”

Goku tried to retort, to ask more questions, when Kami wobbly stood up, his gaze focused on his golden eyes, and Goku took a step back on instinct.

“I’d rather die than explain things to the likes of _you_. The ravens will devour the night, and we’ll get back all that he had stolen from us.”

And Kami, still bedecked in his bloodied and tattered clothes, jumped from the open window, and Goku yelled for help—

—in the few seconds when Gojyo had entered the room and he and Goku peered over the window, not a trace of blood nor flesh from Kami was seen.

“This is the fucking ninth floor! How the fuck did he escape?” growled a panicked Gojyo, who immediately called for backup in search for the escaped man.

* * *

The morning after, Kinzan Publishing was surrounded by heavily armed guards for the first time since it was built, a sight that was reminiscent of an impenetrable fortress, and Genjo Sanzo, ever the hotheaded man, wanted him dead. In his office, a downtrodden Goku bowed and stood by his side as Sanzo glared at the door.

“’twas my fault. I shouldn’t have provoked him,” the brunet muttered long after the people inside were dismissed.

“No shit.”

Goku flinched.

“I was at fault, too. Should’ve popped his brains out when I had the fucking chance,” Sanzo hissed, hunching over his seat, rubbing his temples. He heard no reply, and he glanced over at Goku, who was biting his lip. “You have something else to say?”

Goku nodded, and his eye twitched as he struggled to form his words, “Before that guy jumped over the window, he… said something about ravens devouring nights…”

Sanzo scoffed, and lit a cigarette to his lips, “So the fucker’s into riddles?”

Goku shook his head, his eyes still downcast, “I don’t want to say this, but it seems that he has a huge grudge against you, and I don’t think it was simply because you fired him anymore.”

“Tch. Like I give a fuck about how dramatic he is.”

“But Sanzooo—”

“What?”

“I really think we should investigate on this boss of his! He said something about his boss getting really, really pissed at you!”

Sanzo shrugged, “I should celebrate about that, then.”

“Sanzo—!”

“President Genjo, President Genjo!”

The door slammed to the wall, knocking over a nearby pile of papers from a folder on top of a file cabinet, and a woman entered the president’s office, carrying a mobile to her ear. “A man claiming to be a supervisor of Houtou House wants to meet you!”

She was met with raised, skeptical brows from both the president and his assistant—who was leaning too close to the president—and the woman, sensing the mood, flushed and hastily bowed. “P-pardon my intrusion, sirs! Um, there’s a man claiming to be a supervisor from Houtou House waiting for you—”

Sanzo scratched his ear, a snarl curled at the edge of his lips, “Yeah I heard you the first time. Call Gojyo here, then I’ll go out. What’s his name?”

The woman, taken aback, blinked, “He said his name is not important—” She saw the slightest baring of teeth from the CEO, and she squeaked and stammered out, “But he was insistent, sir! He said he wouldn’t leave the premises until the president would meet him. He tried destroying one employee’s car earlier while yelling in the streets, that’s why...”

Sanzo glanced at Goku, whose expression changed to that of a guarded man, and nodded. The blond sighed, and closed his eyes in exasperation, “Every single fucking damned day of my fucking life, I can’t get any fucking peace around here...”

Goku then grinned at Sanzo’s scowl, “That’s why you have me here, right?”

Sanzo huffed, the markings of an invisible smile apparent in his voice, “You’re my number one peace-destroyer, Monkey.” He ignored Goku’s aghast face and looked at the fearful woman by the door, “Well? Go get that dick-for-brains here, and fix that shit you knocked on the way out.”

The woman obeyed the blond’s orders, and Goku noted Sanzo fumbling with something in his pockets. Sensing the brunet’s eyes on him, Sanzo shrugged, “For emergency.”

“That’s not your gun,” whispered Goku, making sure the fumbling secretary by the door wouldn’t hear him.

“Of course it’s not,” Sanzo patted his pockets one last time, “let’s go.” And he stood up, with Goku following behind and saying his thanks to the secretary on their way out.

* * *

Outside Kinzan Publishing, a man stood barricaded by four armed men, telling him to stay put until the president arrived, and when he did, the men scattered and made way for the president, his assistant, and his bodyguard.

“I see I’ve been pestered by bugs lately. Who knew you’d be a supervisor? Or is that another bluff?”

“Not a bluff, I’ve actually been promoted a month ago,” said the blond man proudly with a smile, tugging on his navy blue suit with a haughty air and showing off his pearly whites. “But yes, I have business with you, Genjo Sanzo, if that’s what you're asking.”

Gojyo, idly spectating from the side, let out a low whistle, “Man, you sure are popular, Your Highness.”

“Fuck off, undine. I don’t need your shit,” growled the blond, earning a string of curses from Gojyo, which he ignored. “Well, what do you want, Zakuro?”

Zakuro, the carefree and overlydramatic man, laughed and pointed at Kinzan’s president, “I’ll have you know, Genjo Sanzo, that I, the great Zakuro, from the esteemed Houtou Publishing House, have caught wind of your dastardly deeds! Never you mind about how I caught you in the act of doing such a tasteless and shameful thing—”

Gojyo leaned over to the unfazed Sanzo and whispered, “The fuck is this guy on? Helium?” to which Sanzo shrugged, commenting that Zakuro's over-the-top antics were normal, and Goku, already on the verge of laughter, had covertly fished out his phone and filmed the wildly gesturing man.

“Such are my methods of acquiring information from rivals of my esteemed company! Really, involving an innocent man in your scheming and miscreant ways of dealing with people leaves me gutted! I’ll have you know, that I, the great Zakuro, will never stoop down in the level that you so adamantly take. And _you_ , Genjo Sanzo, are always thinking that you are above others—”

Goku tapped Sanzo on the shoulder, and leaned in to whisper while making sure the camera remained focused on Zakuro, “Hey, Sanzo. I’m hungry.”

The purple-eyed man huffed, and muttered, “Wait until this is over. Give it 15 minutes at most. You want Italian today, right?”

“Yup,” Goku beamed, and returned his attention to the flambuoyant man still waving his arms about, raising his voice the longer he spoke.

“—I mean, really, using your power to force your will on other people is just _inhuman_! And using _firearms_ , no less! How _pussilanimous_.”

Goku blinked, and nudged a snorting Gojyo on the elbow and whispered, “Hey, Gojyo. What's... pussilanimous?”

Gojyo shrugged his already shaking shoulders, wiping away tears of mirth pooling from holding in his bursts of laughter. “Beats me. Sounds like a—a disease for the unmanly or something. Are you getting it all on video?”

“Yeah.”

“Cool. Send it to me later and I’ll show it to Hakkai.”

“Sure,” Goku chortled.

Zakuro ranted on, and by now, the guards watching him were starting to feel shifty, but Zakuro paid no heed to it as he gestured to a still spiritless Sanzo. “I have here a man, not even hitting his thirties, who had not only used a gun on a former employee of Kinzan, but detained said man who he had given the pink slip to, and, guess what, fellow humans, beat him sensele—urk!”

Zakuro stopped his tirade as Gojyo, now void of any traces of laughter, calmly rubbed his steel boots on Zakuro’s face plastered on the pavement. “Hey, I dunno where you got that info and shit, but everything is so wrong, it’s pathetic. Nice litany, by the way.”

Zakuro’s eyes rolled to where he tried to take a look at the man who stepped on his face, and grumbled out a noise of complaint.

“You see here, pissface,” Sanzo started, feeling his irritation rise at each passing word, “it was the other way around. I didn’t use any gun on him. _He_ was targeting _me_ , and _he_ shot my fucking assistant. Now, pray fucking tell, don’t tell me that if you were in my shoes, you wouldn’t exact double the revenge?” Sanzo felt inside his coat, fingers now reaching for his gun, wanting to aim it at Zakuro’s skull—

A hand tugged on Sanzo’s sleeve, and violet eyes side-glanced on Goku’s slightly shaking head and wide, pleading eyes. The blond huffed and removed his hand from inside his coat, and directed his gaze back to Zakuro’s head, still squished under Gojyo’s foot. “Get up. We have things to talk about.”

* * *

Goku served his boss a plate of the usual green tea rice in his office, along with steamed fish and green tea, and he stood by Sanzo’s side, observing him with scrutiny and puckered lips as he idly tapped on the tray that he held close to his chest. Sanzo, sensing Goku’s sour mood, sighed. The blond had already told Goku that letting Zakuro go without any punishment would suffice, but the brunet wouldn’t have it.

“You let go of that weird man what’s-his-face get away,” Goku complained once more, and this time, he leaned behind the blond and invaded his personal space, knowing it would irk the man. Sanzo, though, read Goku’s actions, and remained nonplussed as he ate.

“He was being a nuisance,” he mumbled with a sip of his tea.

“And that’s why he needed to be taught a lesson.”

“And have me shoot the guy in front of many people? The press will have my head. I’m not that insane yet, Monkey.”

Goku looked at the blond sipping his tea with unmasked disbelief at his words, “I stopped you earlier from killing him. You were about to pull the trigger at him.”

“It would have been just a warning shot near his head. I wouldn’t actually kill him. Yet.”

Goku tried to retort once more, but said nothing more after that, and yet Sanzo felt the brunet’s cheeks puffing up in suppressed opinions.

“Spill it, your brain will leak from your ears.”

Goku took in a deep breath, “Was giving him those tapes necessary, though? He could, you know, tamper with them somehow. And spread mean comments about you to other companies.”

“Feh. I already had the original tapes of the shooting incident delivered to the media way before he showed up. Plus, the lawyers are already lapping up on the info and doing their jobs just in case shit hits the fan and Godworks would try and retaliate. I made sure he wouldn’t get past a legitimate reason to try and tamper with the tapes. If he did, well, he wouldn’t be spewing comedic skits in front of publishing houses, would he?” Sanzo smirked, and Goku’s shoulders visibly sagged in relief.

“So that’s why! Man, I thought you suddenly developed Alzheimer’s or something. I thought maybe you’re becoming the old man that Gojyo always told me about—gyah! Not the paper!”

“Shut it.” Sanzo huffed, and set the newspaper on the desk before finishing his meal. Goku observed him throughout, and the blond noticed him smiling. “What is it this time?”

The brunet laughed, and looked at him with bright eyes, “Nothin’. I’m just glad that bullet got me and not you. I mean, if it were you who got shot, you’d still be in bed right now rolling your ass off and screaming for painkillers.”

Sanzo’s eyebrows twitched, though the undeniable curl of a suppressed smile slipped through his lips, something that Goku took mental note of. “Like hell I’m that weak.”

“Ah, so you do admit you’re weak.”

“No I didn’t.”

“Yes you did.”

They settled in silence for a few moments, broken only by the idle ticking of the wall clock. Goku waited for the blond to finish his tea, and when he did, Goku placed the empty dishes back on the tray and excused himself, but not before being stopped by Sanzo’s hand ruffling his already tousled hair.

“Don’t get shot next time.”

Goku tried to bite back a grin and failed, “If I did get shot again, will we finally do those things?”

Sanzo’s eyes widened, and glowered at the man’s cheekiness. Growling, his jaw clenched in reply, “Stop asking me weird questions and do your damn job, Monkey.”

Goku stuck his tongue out and exited the office, making sure to sway his hips languidly on the way out, leaving Sanzo to pick up his just scattered thoughts as he buried his face in his hands. And he let out a groan.

“That imp is getting bolder. He better not be strutting like that all the way to his cubicle.”

He hummed and stared at the closed door, then at his idle laptop showing a screensaver of glowing lights. He tutted, and fished out a cigarette as he slid his finger along the laptop’s touchpad, “Time to dig up more fucking dirt.”

* * *

Goku made notes about Kami’s identity. His records in Kinzan were suspiciously vague, even his name, at some of his papers, was different—and when he asked Sanzo about the person who hired him, the reply he got was, “He was already here by the time I took over. The hag might know something about him, since she took Kinzan during the time after my foster father’s death.”

On the day that he decided his wounds were completely healed and he wasn’t flinching in pain at midnight anymore, Goku worked up the courage to investigate the mysterious company of Godworks Publishing House that was located three blocks from Kinzan.

He had pestered Sanzo to no end for this mission of his—that pestering included going up to his boss’s flat and sneaking into his bed at 4am, demanding nothing but morning kisses. By the time a sleep-deprived Sanzo finally and thoroughly gave in to Goku’s energy, the brunet made a run for it and left Sanzo cursing and throwing pillows at his retreating form, but not before giving him a peck on the cheek.

Goku smoothed his thoroughly gelled and slicked back hair one more time, checked his eye contacts on his phone and made sure his currently blue eyes were not showing irritation. He patted the leather attaché case slung on his shoulders, which held a faux manuscript, straightened his suit and tie, and took a deep breath, and he entered the enormous building of Godworks Publishing.

Inside, it looked like any standard company from what he had seen—minimal wall decorations, several potted plants, dull blue walls, shiny, tiled floors that matched the equally shiny ceilings that held too bright of a lighting—Goku compared it to Kinzan, and noted the lack of warmth. Kinzan had a warm atmosphere all around, which was reflected in its warm lighting and interior colors of sunset hues and earth colors. Godworks had none of those.

He ventured towards the reception, where he saw not a receptionist sitting on a chair, but a stuffed toy with the heads of a bunny and a bear. Hanging around the plush toy’s neck was a sign, ‘Please type the person you are looking for on the monitor to the right.’

“Weird,” Goku looked at the blinking monitor to his right, where a search bar was displayed. He looked around, and noticed the complete lack of presence of any person—not even a footman—in the lobby. Chalking it up to the people probably doing their jobs in their respective offices, Goku hovered his fingers on the monitor and typed in the name, ‘Kami’, and pressed Enter.

“Even just a match would be fine. Even just a match would be fine—eh? No matches found? Gah… What should I do…?” From a distance, he heard chatting and the sound of footsteps. Goku deleted his search on the monitor and hurriedly hid behind the reception counter.

He waited for the people to exit the building through the automatic sliding doors, and he went straight to the stairs, mindful of his surroundings. He already had the outline of the building memorized with Gojyo’s help from a few days prior—his fuel served as substituting the floor levels as different foods. His name badge was now around his neck, and he opted to “work” as a newbie in the sales department, where there were many people there from what he had gathered.

Goku trudged up to the fourth floor where the sales department was, picked up his bearings, and walked towards the busy floor, where people were shuffling about, yelling about deadlines and having paper pushers scattering at every cubicle.

“Wah, they’re everywhere,” he gulped, and made sure to back away from any of the employers running around with piles of papers in their arms. His eyes searched for a familiar face—Kami’s, to be exact—and when he found none, he immediately searched for a decent ground cover, which ended up to be the coffee machine, where he immediately fished out a paper cup from the nearby stack of cup and helped himself to drink away his sudden nervousness. He initially thought of this investigation as a piece of cake, but with all these unknown people here, he suddenly felt sick to his stomach—quite unlike him, who had always been used to being surrounded with people.

“Heeey, could anyone help me with this? My hands will fall off.”

From nearby, Goku saw a man struggling to open the door with his hands full of folders brimming with papers, and Goku, being Goku, gulped down his bitter coffee in one shot and ran over to open the door for the guy.

“Thanks, man,” the stubbly person gleefully said as he blindly hobbled over to a cubicle and dropped the pile on the desk. He returned to a still dumbfounded Goku and patted him on the back. “Gotta say, today’s workload is very heavy. You doing all right, kid? You’re the new one, right? I see your newbie badge,” and he nodded to the name badge around Goku’s neck.

Goku blinked upon being questioned, and smiled as he tried to calm his shaking hand with the cup in his hold. “Yeah! I’m Kyuu from sales. I was instructed to deliver a new manuscript to…” Goku fished out a folded paper from his coat pocket and unfolded it, “…someone named Kami. I don’t know which department he’s in, though.”

Goku observed any reaction from the black-haired man with the stubble, and noticed no odd gestures of recognition from the name. The man hummed and looked at everywhere but the boy, his lips pursed in thinking, and then, he patted his fist to his palm. “Ah! Yes, yes, that guy. Blond hair with a childlike attitude, yes?”

Goku didn’t know what to reply, and so he vaguely nodded in return.

“Ah, yeah. Him. Figures why I couldn’t notice the name—no one knows what his real name is. He has a weird history in this company, you see. No records of him actually working in this place, which is why no one ever knows which part of this building he’s in. Last time I checked, he ran inside that bigshot company and attempted to murder Kinzan’s president. Gives me the shivers every time. Creepy, huh.”

Goku made sure to react at the right time, gasping and shooting his brows up in mock disbelief at what he had heard. “That’s… really creepy.”

“Yeah. If I were you, I’d just straight-up drop that manuscript in the reception and steer clear from the guy. That reception area’s weird. Said it was a thing of Godworks’ CEO. Anything that’s dropped on that reception area gets delivered to the big man himself—that Kami included. Dunno what his relation is with the heads of this place. Wouldn’t know it. Did that guy get arrested? Dunno. I don’t want anything to do with a criminal. Say, I haven’t introduced myself yet. I’m from the editorial department. The name’s Shuuei, nice to meet you.” Shuuei held out his calloused hand and Goku took quick notes in his head as he shook Shuuei’s hand firmly.

Goku opened his mouth to speak when his phone started vibrating nonstop in his pocket. He ignored it in favor of talking to Shuuei with a forced laugh. “Shuuei, is it. Well, it’s been a pleasure to meet ya. Don’t let me keep you from work. I’ll just make my way around and find Kami, then. Thanks for the heads up.” And Goku went away, fishing out his phone and mumbling into it with much glee, from what Shuuei could see as the brunet dashed for the doors with a wide smile.

Shuuei hummed and scratched his head, “Odd kid, he is.”

* * *

Outside Godworks, Goku looked around and idly toyed with his phone. A call from Sanzo usually involved three things—the blond needed to know where his things went inside his office, he needed to know where his medication for his hypertension went, or another client screwed up and wanted to make Goku deal with the client. Usually it was a mixture of all three.

He heaved a sigh and waited for whoever it was that Sanzo said would pick him up, and when the time came, Goku was near grumbling.

“Hey there, sweet cheeks. Want to go for a ride?”

And Goku’s response was instant as he turned around—a quick flipping of the finger, along with a string of curses, and probably a kick to the neck. None of his kicks came, however, when he saw Gojyo, riding an inexplicable, sleek, gleaming, black Bugatti Chiron that was now parked behind him, the windows rolled down to show the bodyguard’s smug face as he rode in that too expensive vehicle.

He knew only one person who could own such a luxurious hunk of metal.

Before Goku could even retort properly, Gojyo shrugged, “His Highness told me to fetch you in case you did something stupid. I’ve been going around this building for five times now. Better pay me my gas next time.”

Goku flipped him the finger one last time before going over to ride in the passenger seat, and Gojyo drove. “Why would I pay you your gas, you drove around the block on your own. Hell, this car’s not even yours!” When Gojyo only smirked at the road, Goku’s face paled, he gasped and jumped to the most farfetched reason he could think of. “Oh. _Oh_. Fuck. You _stole_ Sanzo’s car, didn’t you? _Didn’t you?_ ” When Gojyo didn’t even say anything in defense, Goku waved his hands about and flipped out, “Oh god. Sweet baby fucking pumpkins, once he finds out about this, he’s going to murder you so fucking hard, you’re gonna die—”

“The fuck’s with that stupid logic, you dumbass?” Gojyo yelled as he glanced at the still blanching assistant. “Sanzo lent me the damn car because he knows damn well I could drive better than he can!”

Goku’s thumb paused in speed dialing Sanzo’s number and blinked at the redhead, and Goku could only mutter a lone, “Oh. I see. Well… You added the last part on your own, didn’t you.”

“Yeah,” Gojyo chortled, and gave him a large paper bag. “Here. The boss wanted me to give you something to chow on, since he knows you’ll be complaining in his office once you—” Gojyo never got to complete his sentence as Goku yelled for joy and took handfuls of the food in bags and ate, leaving a squirming Gojyo when he was offered with only the tuna sandwich and the vegetarian sandwich.

“Do I look like a fucking rabbit? Save me some of the meat ones!”

Goku ignored the redhead in favor of eating the last, meaty sandwich and idly licked the remnants of mustard and tomato juice from his fingers as he looked at the road, and noted a familiar figure leaning on a streetlamp on the coming corner. “Hey, Gojyo. Stop the car.”

“Hah? It’s just a block away from Kinzan, what are you—” Gojyo stopped when he trailed his eyes to where Goku was pointedly staring at. “Well, what do you know. The punk decided to take an afternoon stroll.”

From ahead, they saw the familiar face of the blond they’ve been hunting down for a while—looking quite meek as he talked to a man decked in a black suit, whose back faced them.

* * *

Sanzo rearranged his glasses and looked at the papers littered on his desk, and felt a migraine coming on from the sheer amount of it. He had, in his hands, info about this Godworks Publishing, its staff, its management, and a blank slate about its boss. He had heard from Goku earlier on the phone that no regular employee in Godworks knew the face nor the name of their boss, and that was strange.

He mulled over the possibilities of how to get more info about the company when he heard a loud ruckus from outside his office—the loud sound of approaching footsteps, and a familiar, screeching voice that seemed to know and yell only his name.

His office door was flung open, and in came a panting and disheveled Goku, grinning from ear to ear, his impeccable appearance this morning now completely gone as Sanzo observed from the brunet’s now normal, wild hair, and glinting, golden eyes. From behind him, a smirking Gojyo held up a pile of folders for Sanzo to inspect.

“Sanzo, Sanzo, Sanzo!” Goku yelled with the same wide grin as he bounded over to the blinking blond behind the desk, cautiously avoiding spilling some of the drinks he had in his hands onto the desk. “Guess what, guess what, guess what!”

Sanzo glowered and thwacked the brunet on the head with a nearby folder. “Calm your shit and speak properly, idiot. I could hear you screaming my name a mile away.”

Gojyo snickered as he closed the door behind him, and Goku puffed his cheeks, wanting to argue with the pale man, but thought better of it and grinned again. “We know where he is! Gojyo took some pictures. Spot’s been talking to some shady-looking men and exchanging documents with them. Dunno what they are yet. Oh, and guess what—Godworks is a sister company of Houtou. I took a flier from one of their tables on my way out.”

“So I see. I don’t think it made a difference, though,” Sanzo drawled as he took a drag from his cigarette and inspected the flier handed over to him. It featured a moss green, glossy paper, with a logo of a raven’s face, its beak wide open, and inside its mouth, a small, and almost unnoticeable little worm. Above the logo was a one-liner slogan written in thin, golden letters: ‘Learn from what you thought was nothing.’

Sanzo turned the paper over, and saw nothing else. “Wasn’t this logo from Houtou?”

Gojyo huffed as he slammed the folders on Sanzo’s desk. “Exactly. It used to be from Houtou until shit took the fan. That is, when Houtou’s president died a few years ago and his mistress took over. Apparently, she didn’t think much of her lover’s possessions and stocks and shares dipped until some guy took over behind the scenes. We’ll get more into that. You’d think Godworks would be creative enough to think of a logo of their own, but nah, they thought it would be nice to just recycle. Trashy, if you ask me. And Houtou’s logo now is just the same as that, except, instead of green, they used pitch black. Slogan is also almost the same. ‘Create a world from nothing.’ It’s pretty much the same damn thing!”

“And these are…?” Sanzo picked up one folder and looked it over, violet eyes scanning over the unfamiliar names and numerous biodata.

“Houtou’s staff, the main ones. Funny how there’s no face about their leaders. Jien gave me those, by the way. He used to work there, after all. But he said he had never once saw Houtou’s president. All he knew was the president spoke to them through loudspeakers scattered all over the place, using a voice-changing software. A man or a woman? Who knows.”

Sanzo hummed, and noticed Goku now slurping on a frappuccino, “Goku, locate where the hag is at the moment. I need to talk to her.”

With a salute and a noisy slurp of his drink, Goku bounded off and opened the door, going over to his cubicle. Gojyo, meanwhile, raised his eyebrow at the passive blond.

“And me, Your Highness? What do I get to do?”

Sanzo looked up from the papers and regarded his bodyguard with an offhanded, “Go play fetch or something, and send me those pictures to my mail,” and waved him off.

Gojyo flipped him the finger and muttered insults to the smirking blond as he exited the office.

Sanzo flipped over biodata over biodata, trying to read something of importance. At one point, he mulled over why he was poring over info about a company that had no relation to him when he could be doing his actual work of supervising his employees, and he realized, as he glanced at Goku’s form through the glass windows—

“I don’t want another life to die on my hands…”

And he resumed looking over the documents, until he found a familiar face upon the piles of biodata with faceless people—

“ _…Father?_ ”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I tried to finish it during the hype on the day the big Saiyuki announcement was made, but my brain wouldn’t let me. But yes, if you’re reading this and haven’t heard the news yet: Saiyuki Reload Blast will be animated next year. -god that feels so good to write it down-

Kinzan’s CEO had a burning mission, and that mission involved tracking down where his aunt went. As was her whim, Kanzeon had a hobby of trotting around the globe with her long-suffering aide, Jiroushin. Sanzo made it clear that she should be at her home once he arrived, something that made his aunt laugh in her own, sophisticated way. She always knew what her beloved nephew was doing outside his flat without his knowing—a mystery that Sanzo would rather leave unsolved. At one point, he was convinced someone was a plant in Kinzan, relaying every move he made to the vice president.

Then again, it would do him no good. After all, it wasn’t as if he killed off people in his company, was it?

“Sanzo?”

Sanzo looked away from the dull view from the car’s windows, and glanced at his assistant’s inquiring façade. He was sure that the brunet still had no idea what was going on—as long as Sanzo ordered him to do something, Goku would do it, no questions asked.

“What’s going on?”

Ah, there it was.

The blond redirected his gaze to the scenery of cars passing by through the windows, and from its reflection, he could see Goku still staring at him, blinking. “Something’s been bothering me since Gojyo brought those files.” And it was true—initially, he would have come to her, as a last resort, to ask about Kami’s real identity in Kinzan; none of the veterans in Kinzan knew the curious man very well, anyway. But it all changed when he saw that familiar face on one of Houtou’s files.

His foster father never mentioned to him about having a former alliance with Houtou—all that Sanzo knew was that Houtou had a cruel reputation of blackmailing and driving small-scale publishing houses into bankruptcy and eventually buying them, absorbing what little sources it had, claiming it as their own work and sweat and blood, without any regards to the families that were affected by the sudden closing of their workplaces, driving some of them into depression and suicide.

Houtou had no heart for its employees, and only had its eyes set on hauling in more cash in its already bursting pockets.

It was disgusting.

“Sanzo?”

The blond hummed, and looked at his clenched fist on his lap, held loosely under Goku’s warm palm. And when violet eyes fell on golden ones, Sanzo’s breath caught in his throat as the brunet scooted over to him, leaning away from the other side of the window, their suit-clad shoulders brushing against each other. “Are you all right? Do you need food or a drink? We could have a stopover if you want.”

Sanzo noted his own jaw, clenched tight from thinking too much, and his teeth clacked as he spoke, “I’m all right. I just have a lot on my mind.” It was too late when he realized what he just said, in a completely calm manner—so unlike him—and it was too early to glance at the rearview mirror, seeing Gojyo on the driver’s seat, his eyebrows raising, crimson eyes glinting in barely concealed mischief at the CEO’s unusually serene tone. Sanzo was tempted to tell him off, if it weren’t for an insistent tugging at his sleeve, to where Goku kept looking at him with the same questioning eyes he always held whenever he thought something was wrong about the blond.

On instinct, Sanzo’s hand draped over Goku’s head, ruffling the hickory-hued locks, along with soothing a thumb over a tanned cheek. “I’m all right,” he droned low enough for only Goku to hear, and his few words seemed to put Goku’s mind at ease, and released his hold on Sanzo’s sleeve, opting to rest his hand on his instead.

“That’s good, then,” Goku mumbled as he pulled away and leaned back on the seat, his eyes closing with a soft smile as his hold on Sanzo’s hand tightened, and only then did Sanzo heave a sigh of relief, to which Gojyo stifled and choked back a guffaw bursting from his chest.

“Shut it, undine. I can hear your shit even if you don’t say it,” Sanzo growled as Gojyo finally laughed.

The three of them drove their way to Kanzeon’s mansion—a vast and gaudy place that served as too much for two people to live in. She had a penchant for anything Zen coupled with the gaudiness of Western decor, as mirrored by her home’s exterior and interior design—the two, large, circular fountains in front of her home and in front of the receiving area were her favorite ornaments of all, the water decorated with lotuses and koi fishes swimming around. Marbled floors and a sparkling chandelier hanging from a marbled ceiling were kept clean to its finest, and all around, the scent of incense wafted in the air as soon as the looming doors to her mansion opened, and descending from a grand, spiraling staircase was Sanzo’s aunt, her arms outstretched with a wide grin on her blue-toned, red lips. She let out a laugh as she hurried down the stairs decked in a sleeveless, white stola that flowed freely behind her, making a frantic Jiroushin—the poor man that grew too many gray hairs from her antics—chase after his mistress with concern for her running down stairs in overflowing dresses.

“My nephew! Finally decided to see me, eh?” She made her way to hug Sanzo, only to be met with a scowl and a cringe. She pouted in mock hurt, and turned to the awkwardly waving brunet. “And Goku—” she rushed up to the smiling, young man and held him tight against her ample bosom, paying no regards to his fruitless escape in her hold as she rubbed her cheek against his. “—my favorite, _favorite_ child! Oh, I missed you so much!” She pulled him away from her embrace, tucked a stray strand of her long, wavy, black hair behind her ear, and tapped his nose, “I have prepared a feast for you, my child! All your favorites. I know how you _love_ your Chinese food. Oh, and Konzen, dear, be a darling and try not to smoke in this house. You’ll desecrate the incense—”

Sanzo bristled at the name, snapped his cigarette in half, and shrieked, “Stop. Calling me that!” And Kanzeon brushed it off with a laugh and a wave of a hand and returned her attention to Goku, stage whispering and giggling all the while as they walked towards a long hallway decked in white walls and the same marbled floors, leading to the dining room.

“Dear, did you know that your boss here used to love playing with cicadas when he was a little tyke? On the days that I visited his house while Jiroushin tutored you with lessons, Konzen would be fascinated of these insects, the golden ones, to be exact, and he’d idly watch them on trees to hours until he’d get hungry. Soon, I came to call him Konzen because of that. But you didn’t know that, because he’d get mad. He used to be so _cute_ as a kid—but you’re cuter, Goku, dear, don’t worry—and now he turned into a grumpy thing. I don’t know where I went wrong.”

Gojyo howled in laughter at her story, and Sanzo, growling and red in the face, stomped and barked and yelled behind a smiling Kanzeon, who had her arm draped on Goku’s shoulder as they walked.

“You fucking hag! Stop telling him that!” he screeched, and Kanzeon ignored him still, her attention still focused on a grinning Goku, who eyed Sanzo with barely concealed mirth.

“You like golden cicadas?” came Goku’s playful question as he looked over to Sanzo, and he covered his toothy grin with his hand. The blond balked, his face flushed red in embarrassment, and he glared at his aunt.

“Stop listening to her! Goku, come here!” Sanzo held out his hand to the giggling brunet, and Goku shook his head.

“Nuh uh. Not this time. Hey, Auntie Kanzeon, tell me more!”

Sanzo’s mouth gaped in disbelief at Goku’s sudden interest in Sanzo’s childhood days, and Gojyo, not even hiding his complete amusement, patted him on the back. “Ah, such is the turn of events for a rebellious son—gah! Don’t punch my face!”

* * *

“So, you want to know what happened during Koumyou’s days in Houtou?” Kanzeon asked Sanzo as she ate a plate of chicken veronique. Goku and Gojyo had long gone to the parlor after a hefty meal, opting to play video games that Kanzeon provided especially for the golden-eyed teen.

Sanzo idly chewed his potato and onion gratin and nodded, “You heard the shit that happened in Kinzan, right? I had Gojyo investigate about Godworks and its affiliations after what happened to Goku, and found out that it has ties with Houtou—and found _him_ in one of the staff. Care to tell me why I was never informed of this even once?”

Kanzeon softly put down her knife and fork, and regarded her nephew with a clandestine smile, “Konzen, when your father died, I had to make sure you wouldn’t be involved in anything that would scar you for life—”

“Hmph. Too late for that.”

“—and now, I guess I couldn’t keep you away from it, after all,” she sighed, and leaned back on the plush chair. “Koumyou had been capricious when he was Goku’s age, and often fought his way out from becoming Kinzan’s successor. He eventually ran away with this fellow, Ken’yuu, and they formed an alliance—”

“Wait, wait, who is this Ken’yuu?”

She pursed her lips at Sanzo’s impatience, “I was getting to that, dear. Ken’yuu used to be an editor in Kinzan—had quite the secret taste for raunchy literature, too—until he got bored with the constant subject of religion in the books he edited, and he quit. Dragged Koumyou with him and they ended up in Houtou. What reputation Houtou has now was its foundation in its early days. Ken’yuu became fascinated by the broad genres of the house, and he landed a job there. Koumyou, although he initially loved the time he spent with Ken’yuu—he used to talk to me about him to hours on end—he... Well, Koumyou, I think, finally opened his eyes to see the truth behind Houtou’s infamy and how it handled its clients by the neck if they refused to write the content they wanted to see. Koumyou couldn’t stomach the books that were being pushed on him to check on. Subjects about gore and the horrific and the disgusting and the disturbing—those things were never really his thing, as you know very well.”

Sanzo nodded, his lips set in a grim frown. From the vast collection of books that he inherited from the late Koumyou, it was as though Sanzo had looked into his foster father’s very soul. Books about medicine, science, of creations of the lifeforms of the earth and of the galaxy, about worldly legends and myths from around the globe—genres that focused on life and living and a quiet rumination about cherishing peace and finding all forms of affection in people—these were the gems that were placed into Sanzo’s hands when he was 13, and he had treasured them all in his room, often letting Goku read them and arrange them afterwards. They were some of the small things that kept Sanzo with his sanity intact.

“Apparently, these things were what Ken’yuu was completely thrilled and enjoyed the most. Your father tried to convince him to quit and find another company, but Ken’yuu refused. Eventually, Koumyou decided to quit, and he was in a limbo for a while. Until he realized—that the foundations he had been so clinging to—the concepts he had been adhering to for so long, were all from Kinzan’s view. Long story short. Koumyou returned to Kinzan and took over, admitted that he couldn’t run away from what he was destined to be, and saved face, in a span of a year, regretting everything that he was forced to do in Houtou. And then, after a two years, we all know what happened. He found out about me taking care of you, found out about your story of how you ended up in my care, and he immediately felt a rush of affection for you. He took you in, with my permission, and made sure you would get all the love that a father could ever give to his son—even if his family didn’t agree with him. And I, well, I gave you all that you’ll ever need to deal with after your mother’s death.”

Kanzeon smiled at her silent nephew, his eyes sad and downcast—and to her eyes, he looked as though he was back to being a child again, looking lost, wordlessly seeking for a help of a guiding hand.

Sanzo sat still and seemed to debate whether to speak or not. Kanzeon waited patiently, her elbows perched upon the table, her chin cradled on her locked fingers. And when he did speak, she could barely hear it, and she saw the tiniest hint of light in his darkened eyes.

“...You gave me Goku.”

Her smile widened, and she stood up, went behind Sanzo, and draped her arms around his shoulders.

“Dear, you were just a child back then, and he, an even smaller child. I knew how you kept hiding the pain from seeing your parents fight all the time—you needed someone who could make you see that not everything in this world has to end up in tears.” She nestled her chin against his head, and closed her eyes. “Goku was very small, and had no parents when I found him on the streets. You and he were alike, in a sense, and I thought he could be your playmate at times. Throughout the rare times that you two played around this house, I thought, ‘Ah, this little one could be with him for a long time, I can tell.’ And what do you know,” she placed a kiss on Sanzo’s brow—

“I was entirely right all along.”

* * *

Kanzeon offered them a night’s stay as soon as the torrent of rain poured outside, and knowing her nephew, she made sure to keep him as not-cranky as possible. “Besides, it’s a Friday. No work tomorrow, right?” she said with her ever knowing smile.

And now Sanzo looked at the ceiling of the room that he used to have when he was a child, and remembered everything was the same. The glazed, caramel walls, the dim, warm lighting, the plush bed that remained too big even for an adult to use, the lacquered drawers that held too many drawing materials, a large, ornate, black, wooden box decorated with silver, budding flowers that Sanzo knew wasn’t there before—

He lifted the lid and peered inside the large box, and his brows rose in the smallest hint of surprise when he saw the first of the many stick and blob drawings that Goku used to draw for him whenever they met. The drawing on top—a crude drawing at best—was of him and of Goku, sharing their first meal together under a tree. Sanzo bit the inside of his lower lip, and checked the drawings some more. There was a drawing of a cat, and of a blob figure of Sanzo running away. There was a drawing of a very small Goku, clutching his hand onto Sanzo’s, and a drawing of Sanzo sick in bed, and beside him was a blob of Goku surrounded by blue lines that what Sanzo assumed as tears.

The blond fought back a small smile, and failed.

“Sanzo?”

He shuffled and placed the drawings and the lid back in place, just in time to see Goku open the door and enter the room.

“I asked Auntie if I could sleep in the room we shared when we were kids. She agreed,” the brunet said with a soft smile as he closed the door behind him. “Gojyo is with her right now, and if I didn’t know better, he’d be hitting on her. Jiroushin keeps glaring daggers at him, though. Oh, and I asked her about Spot. Said she’d tell us about it tomorrow at breakfast.”

Sanzo hummed and turned away from him, “Like hell she’d let him hit on her. She may act like a bitch, but not an actual bitch—hey. What are you doing.” He tried turning around, and failing to do so when Goku tightened his arms around him. It was like déjà vu all over again.

“You look happy, Sanzo,” the young man beamed at him. “Was there something you remembered?” And Sanzo, being Sanzo, grumbled something under his breath that Goku couldn’t quite catch, and he pestered him to no end until the blond pulled away from his embrace and fell back onto the side of the bed he once shared with the brunet. He followed and plopped back beside him. Knowing that Sanzo wouldn’t repeat what he uttered moments prior, he changed the topic. “Hey, Sanzo. Are we even doing our jobs anymore?”

The blond quirked an eyebrow and faced the younger man, who looked at the ceiling, his face expressing too much unspoken thoughts. “What do you mean?”

“This—thing that’s been going on lately with Spot. It’s like—we’re not just doing our regular jobs anymore. There’s something darker going on, is there? I mean, normal publishing companies wouldn’t just try and kill anyone over some books, right? I’ve never seen you do that.” Golden eyes looked at purple ones, and Sanzo sighed.

“I wouldn’t do that, idiot. I’m not that insane,” the blond mumbled, his insult holding none of its usual bite. “The hag told you the same thing she said to me, I suppose?” Goku nodded. Sanzo closed his eyes, and said nothing more. How much she told Goku, he never asked, and he took comfort in the short silence until he heard the familiar sound of calm and even breathing. Glancing over to Goku, Sanzo huffed, and fully turned over to observe the sleeping brunet, his arm now propped up under his temple. He looked at how he slept with his mouth parted, emitting soft snores, and noted how his lashes kissed his soft face.

Sanzo hovered on Goku’s lips, letting his breath fan over Goku’s parted lips.

He closed his eyes and nudged Goku’s mouth closed, his index and middle fingers brushing against a soft chin a tad too long.

He regarded the sleeping Goku with a raised eyebrow and a barely concealed, lopsided smirk.

“Looking completely defenseless in your sleep while I’m here, eh. Heh, you trust me too much.”

He brushed the stray fringe on Goku’s forehead, sighed, and placed a kiss there. Goku did not stir, not even when Sanzo put his forehead to his.

“You really are a silly monkey.”

* * *

The following morning during breakfast, Kanzeon explained to Sanzo about Kami, as promised. She told him of how orphan Kami wasn’t given a real name under Ken’yuu’s questionable guardianship, and how the child developed a god complex because of Ken’yuu’s lax and carefree teachings.

“Why do I know this, you ask? Koumyou occasionally talked to me about it, telling me that he wouldn’t let you be near Ken’yuu because of his methods of raising Kami.” Kanzeon ate the last of her panna cotta and regarded her nephew with an austere air.

“So, you’re saying that this Ken’yuu person didn’t even give his foster son a name?” Sanzo asked, brows drawing tight in confusion. “Who hired him into Kinzan, then?”

Kanzeon twirled her fork, and pointed it at the scowling blond, “Your father did. He couldn’t stand seeing Ken’yuu neglecting the kid, so he thought that the friendly atmosphere in Kinzan might help the kid become a better person. It didn’t. Ken’yuu’s teachings on him were deeply embedded into Kami’s psyche—I should know, I watched him in his early days as a trainee and he had a childish streak of being self-righteous and conceited. And then you came along, I gladly gave you your rightful position in Kinzan, and we are left to where we are now.”

Goku chewed on his dumpling, and side-glanced at a stern-faced Sanzo.

* * *

Goku greeted the new clients and the first-time authors with smiles and encouragement in the lobby. He interviewed them one by one, and directed the writers to their respective heads in the genres that the clients excel in. At one point, the brunet had to excuse himself and call for backup—a dashing, black-haired young man called Homura from the editorial managing department—for one client about a book proposal, and another for a client seeking the best publishing package.

Goku dashed into the lunchroom after relaying all the details to the managing editor, and wolfed down plate after plate of everything in the menu.

“Dude, you’re near tears. What happened?” asked Jien, who sat down in front of him with worry after seeing Goku looking distressed. Beside him was Yaone, who looked as equally worried for the brunet.

Goku held up a hand and patted his stomach, trying to even out his breathing, and Jien blinked and nodded. After a few moments, Goku mustered a smile, “’ts okay, guys. I was just having a heartburn from eating too much. I didn’t have lunch earlier from all the clients outside. Some of them gave me a headache and kept demanding me to tell them what’s wrong with their manuscripts and proposals.”

“And so you were near tears,” Jien deadpanned, to which Goku nodded enthusiastically. “Man, and here I thought being the president’s assistant would make you cry—when the actual thing that’d make you weep is not eating for a few hours and some complaining clients, haha—ow!”

Yaone elbowed Jien on the ribs and glared at him, before smiling at Goku with enthusiasm and a cheerful clap of her hands, “Mr. Goku, if you’d like, we could have a nice nightout after all the clients have done their part. I’m sure we’ll need all the relaxation after dealing with the deadlines being met. Say, this Friday?”

Goku gulped down a glass of water and beamed at the smiling woman, and quickly agreed. He had always liked Yaone—always so calm and polite and gentle and kind. And it reminded him of someone he knew quite well. “Ah, can I call in a friend, too? He’s nice and polite and smart like you! I’m sure you’ll like his company!” he blurted out in glee.

Jien rubbed his ribs and laughed, “Pretty sure that’s not our boss.”

Goku guffawed, “Of course not! But he is pretty.”

The utensils seemed to stop their tinkering on plates, and Jien and Yaone stared at Goku as though he had went insane.

The brunet leaned back on his chair with suddenly stiff shoulders, smiling a bit too tightlipped and eyes fluttering a bit too much as he held his breath, looked at his watch and chattered.

“Oh. Oh _wow_. Will you look at the time. Is _that_ the time? Yeah. That’s the time,” he stood up a tad too quickly, his grin stretching from ear to ear, “Have to go back to the clients and all that. Don’t want Homura to leave him there all in his lonesome. Tell me about when this nightout will be! Jien, Gojyo will be there, right? Right. Well, have to go, guys, bye!” And he picked up his tray, cleaned up in a mad dash, and sped out of the lunchroom.

It took a few moments before Goku’s words sank in for the two. Jien stared at the door Goku just dashed to. “Did—did Goku just confess that he has the hots for the president?”

Yaone, too stunned to speak, nodded slowly, and took moments before she, too, could recover. “I think he must be complimenting President Genjo’s looks, but now I am not so sure it was just a compliment.”

* * *

Sanzo grunted his way back to his flat, all semblance of composure gone as he clutched his wrinkled coat in one hand and swiped the card key with the other, and entered the room. Tama sat by the entryway and greeted him with a soft meow, gently pawing on his foot, and Sanzo sighed. Behind him, Goku crouched to pat the calico cat on the head.

“Hey, Sanzo. At least it wasn’t vomit on your coat,” he laughed, wagging his finger in front of the playful cat. He heard Sanzo snort as he removed his shoes on the entryway with nonchalance, and stomped his way to the laundry room, only to come back out and storm to the kitchen, yelling insults about how drunk Gojyo was for him to spill whiskey on his pants.

“I looked like I had shit on my suit the whole night, idiot. The _whole_ fucking night! It didn’t help that my pants are fucking _white_ —Goku, where’s the vinegar?”

“In the cabinet to your left.”

“Right. As I was saying—hey, kitten, here’s your food—I was saying, those Sha brothers will one day meet my gun for that. I looked like shit. And how the fuck did that smarmy Homura get invited? He’s not even on our floor!”

Goku curled his socked toes on the carpet in the living room and plopped on the couch, controlling his snickers as he watched Sanzo ranting and flailing about in the kitchen, and opted not to comment about the glaring stain on Sanzo’s white pants. “Homura’s your employee, you know. And you’re the boss, therefore, it doesn’t matter which floor he’s on. Besides, I invited Hakkai over, you know. He’s not your employee, but I don’t see you complainin’.”

“Well, fuck you, too.”

Goku guffawed, and silently observed Sanzo muttering curses as he struggled with battling the stain on the sink. “It was a good thing we agreed to go to that bar, though. We found out things about Godworks. Like how it’s actually Houtou’s puppet than a sister company. Plus, we got a new ally in our hands—Sanzo? What’s that?”

Sanzo had stopped blotting on his coat, and inspected a soaking wet card in his hands.

“This was in my coat pocket.”

Goku blinked and went over to him immediately, and took the soggy card from his hands. “It’s—Homura’s calling card. What’s it for?” He turned the card over and tried to read what was legibly left of the smudged letters and the washed out logo of the golden-tipped lotus that was Kinzan’s symbol. “It says at the back, ‘me, too.’ Did you two even talk tonight? Because I’m pretty sure you two didn’t. Anyway, what does this, ‘me, too’ mean?” Sanzo checked all his pockets in case if there was another card planted onto his person, but found none. He wrinkled his nose at the card in Goku’s hand.

“Dunno. Didn’t talk to him at all. I’ll ask him tomorrow. Goku, check your pockets.”

Goku flipped all of his pockets inside out and found nothing that resembled a card or any paper. “Maybe it was just put on you?”

“The fuck would he do that for? He could have just told me about what he wanted to say. And why give me his calling card when I have all the employees’ numbers in my disposal?”

* * *

Sanzo glared from where he sat in his office, his eyebrow twitching at Homura’s ever present, knowing grin. The sable-haired man reclined loftily in front of him, legs crossed and shoulders shrugging.

“I wanted to call your attention,” Homura declared with a glib wave of his arms. “Word spoke fast, you know, Konzen. I heard from the Sha brothers of your little investigation of this notable company,” he leaned forward, elbows propped on the desk and obscuring his mouth with his clasped fingers. “Houtou is on a different league than Kinzan, Konzen. You’ll need more than just covert fact-finding if you want to know more about them.”

“Fuck you. Stop calling me that. And why do you care?” Sanzo leaned away from him, scowling as he breathed out a lazy trail of cigarette smoke from his sneering lips, finding a small hint of satisfaction when Homura’s nose crumpled in distaste. The blond never liked the guy in the first place since they met under Kanzeon’s tutelage in editorial training, but Sanzo had to begrudgingly admit, Homura’s skills in handling people in their most stressful states during an editing cycle was something that Sanzo could never do in his lifetime. Aside from being one of Kanzeon’s favorite ‘children’ in Kinzan, Sanzo had yet to find a hole in actually trying to fire Homura. But he’d lose a fairly decent employee if he fired him.

He didn’t want that.

“I want to aid you in knowing more about Godworks and Houtou,” Homura gritted out in between gnashing teeth, and Sanzo hummed, one eyebrow raising in a quiet interest. Homura’s face twisted in repressed frustration, his blue and golden eyes seething in a bubbling wrath. “This isn’t about Son Goku anymore, Konzen—”

“ _Don’t drag him into this._ ”

Homura’s tirade stopped, and huffed at the sudden coldness in Sanzo’s usual glare. “Ah. Have I struck a nerve?” Reveling in the blond’s narrowed eyes and silent fury, Homura smiled, “You and I share the same goal, Konzen, whether you’d like to admit it or not. I seek Houtou’s president’s blood for killing my fiancée from disobeying a command she couldn’t do, and you—”

Homura stood up, languidly coming over behind Sanzo’s tense shoulders, and sneered.

“You want to know who wants you dead, right?”

Sanzo snapped his cigarette in half and whirled around, glaring at the haughty man that leaned away from him with a buttery smile. “What the fuck do you know?”

Homura crowed, and shook his head in spurn. “Do you really think that Kami will stop at one attempt on your life? Konzen, you are here now because of Son Goku. Why do you suppose the vice president initially made me your assistant before you transferred me to another department and switched your assistants before ending up with Son Goku? It’s a fortunate thing that he is willing to give up his life for you. Konzen, Vice President Kanzeon knows the troubles that follow you around, and that is why I, a former military man, was assigned to you, and that’s why she gave you that—”

“Enough. Just. Stop it.”

“Why? Because you can’t face the truth that your world is being shaken for once, and by an unknown, no less? Or is it because—”

Sanzo quivered in anger in his seat. Standing up, he made a move to grab Homura by the collar when the door clicked open and Goku sighed in lament, eyes downcast as he entered the office.

“Sanzo, the clients have finally left for the day, what do you think about Thai food for—oh.”

The blond, with his arm in mid-attack, let out a low growl at Homura’s smug face. Goku, oblivious to it all, blinked at the two. “Something the matter?”

Sanzo’s eye twitched as he stepped away from his desk and went over over to Goku with long strides, grabbing his coat from the rack near the door in a hurry. “He’s just being the pest, as usual. You said something about Thai?”

Goku, out of habit, smoothed out the creases on Sanzo’s coat, and nodded with a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes, “Uh, yeah. I want spicy food today. Is that okay?” The blond noted how those golden eyes kept darting to Homura with downturned lips, worry and apprehension written all over his face. Sanzo sighed inwardly.

Homura bit the inside of his cheek as he watched how Kinzan’s CEO treated the young brunet—with all muttered words and barely gestured nods that seemed to be reserved only for Goku. He hummed as Sanzo said something to the brunet that escaped Homura’s ears, words which seemed to cause the golden-eyed teen to beam again. The blond ruffled Goku’s hair a tad too long for anyone’s comfort, but the latter didn’t seem to mind it at all.

“Ah, Homura, we’ll go on ahead. Have to make reservations on a last minute notice. Is that all right?” came Goku’s now chipper voice by the door. Homura took notice of the way the teen’s fingers splayed loosely on Sanzo’s upper arm quite longer than any normal employee would to their superior, and the blond merely side-glanced at Homura with a silent taunting of narrowed, violet eyes and crossed arms, quietly urging him not to speak anymore about what happened moments ago.

Homura smiled at Goku with a small wave, “Don’t worry, I’ll manage it all. Take care on your way to dinner.” The teen waved goodbye, and turned away, unaware of Homura’s gaze that seemed to focus on his waving arms and the animated way that he talked to Sanzo as they walked away.

An upturned curling of lips graced Homura’s features, and chortled to himself, “Seems like you’ve found yourself a weakness, Konzen.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the kind comments for the past chapters! :D I try to reply to all of you as I can, and thank you properly for reading and commenting and leaving kudos. :3

Sanzo thought about the pictures that Gojyo had sent him during his spying on Kami. The few good shots that the redhead had managed to capture—without a zoomed in tuft of Goku’s hair on the lens—were printed and kept inside his wallet. There was a picture of Kami’s face partially shown, smiling and looking almost sheepish. There was another one of him giving envelopes to a black-haired man in a black suit whose back faced the camera. Another picture featured a zoomed in shot of the envelopes, and Sanzo had cursed when a huge chunk of the shot was blocked by the black-clad man’s upper arm.

Shitty Gojyo couldn’t even get a decent picture right.

Leaning back onto the cold, metal seat, Sanzo stubbed his cigarette in the ashtray and glared at the nearby people who eyed him with come-hither looks and subtle, provocative gestures.

He couldn’t even drink a cup of coffee in broad daylight in peace.

Sanzo almost spat on the ground in distaste.

Fucking tarts.

The metal chair scraped on the ground as he stood up, and quickly washed down the taste of the cigarette with his now cold coffee; and he briskly walked away from the ogling eyes of both men and women.

It was the same everywhere he went.

It was not his fucking fault he was born with the face that he had. The only thing his face had given him over the years was a lot of headaches from unwanted people’s attention and shallow affection. At one point, he would have blown a bullet to his face if that would mean the unwanted harassment would stop, but—

He turned to a corner, his face now settling in his normal, glowering mode, and took great satisfaction at the people that avoided him when they met his cold eyes. Good. At least he wouldn’t have to be groped by strangers. You’d think a man who regularly dressed like a respectful businessman would warrant a sliver of respect from passersby, but no, that wasn’t the usual case. In fact, the effect was the opposite—the sharper he dressed, the faster he got harassed in one form or another.

And today, he wore a pair of jeans and a buttondown shirt—and the stares sent his way still wouldn’t stop.

“I should have just been born with the face of a cat’s ass,” Sanzo growled to himself. He would look like a fool to everyone, but at least people wouldn’t bother him.

“Heeey, grumpy guy with the balding head!”

Sanzo whipped out another cigarette and chewed on it, leaving it unlit as he made an aimless route to wherever his feet would take him until his legs would turn to lead.

“Calling the attention of the sulking guy with the blinding hair under the sun!”

Maybe he’d get some peace in a bookstore. Yeah, that’d do him good. It would be better to check what were the trending genres lately. If he’d be lucky, he’d sneakily eavesdrop on some of the buyers’ comments on Kinzan books.

“Weak-jointed old man in jeans and black polo shirt!”

Sanzo snatched his cigarette in between his teeth in ire and whipped around, ready to give whoever-the-owner-of-this-voice-was a good beating to the mug. That voice had been grating on his ears for a while now—

“Morning, Sanzo! I’ve been calling you for many times since I saw you near the coffee shop, but you didn’t notice me. So I followed you around and yelled and called you names—tee hee!”

—only to stop in his bubbling wrath when he saw Goku’s stupid face and his stupid smile and his stupidly wide, stupidly golden eyes.

Great.

Sanzo’s initial glower simmered to a frown and a resigned sigh as he flicked his unlit and now-bent cigarette to the ground. “What do you want,” he deadpanned, his tired eyes refusing to look at Goku’s lively ones.

“Nothin’,” Goku said in a lilting voice as he lightly swayed on the balls of his feet and hid his hands behind his back. “I just saw you looking ready to commit a murder any minute, so I followed you. Who’s your target?”

Sanzo’s eyebrow rose, and looked at the brunet with concealed curiosity, “Did I really look like I was going to murder someone?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh,” Sanzo blinked once, and gave a thoughtful hum, “I was thinking of going to the bookstore, but, well, I might murder someone if they ask too many stupid questions enough, like what you’re doing now.”

The edges of Goku’s lips crept up to a cheeky, little grin, and he took a step towards the blond, “Really? Well, can you do it now?”

The creases between Sanzo’s forehead deepened, and he grunted, “The fuck’s gotten into you? You’re acting stupider than usual.”

Goku’s lopsided grin faltered a tad, and he raised his shoulders in a casual shrug, “Nothing much. So? Will you do it?”

Sanzo’s brow twitched, and his lips curved in a snarl. “I have no bullets to waste on you, idiot,” he grumbled.

The brunet let out a breathy, little laugh, and his eyes seemed to soften. “That’s better,” he said in an equal mutter, and he reached out and pressed his index finger to Sanzo’s glabella, smoothing out the skin in between Sanzo’s brows with slow but firm strokes. “The lines on your face disappeared. It’s better that way.” And he spoke in a soft, almost affectionate tone that Sanzo barely strained to hear in the open air of the city. The blond felt his shoulders gradually droop the longer Goku dragged his finger between his now smooth brows, and when Goku did stop, Sanzo’s lips parted in an almost lament at the loss of the soothing contact.

The faint brushing of roughened, slender fingertips tickled against Sanzo’s jaw, and Goku looked at him with a barely there smile and a tilt of the head, his eyelids unhurried in concealing his honeyed eyes—

“You looked like you had the world dead set as your enemy. Don’t do that,” Goku breathed, and when he was satisfied with the relaxed face that Sanzo now wore, he hummed in a silent approval—

“You’re more beautiful this way,” he said in a sigh that coupled with Sanzo’s quiet surprise. And when the blond had finally regained his train of thought, Goku had already pulled away and took a few steps ahead of him, and he heard the brunet in his usual cheer. “Hey, Sanzo! Hurry up! We’re going to the bookstore, right?”

The purple-eyed man traced after Goku’s carefree form, and failed to fight back a small smile.

At least there was one constant headache he’d rather have.

Sanzo walked up to the jovial teen and ruffled his hair, and said nothing more. Goku giggled and their shoulders often brushed as they walked to the biggest bookstore in the city.

There, a different Goku emerged as he bounded over to all the sections of the floor as soon as they entered, leaving Sanzo to sigh and loiter around the novels section near the door. The brunet was always like this—like an excited puppy seeing a new toy—every time he saw a new pile of books. Sanzo guessed it was because he had read to Goku a lot at night when they were younger during their stay in Kanzeon’s mansion. Sanzo would always stop at the part where the story would get exciting, leaving Goku wailing and complaining for him to continue, only for Sanzo turn out the lights and sleep. Soon, Goku developed a habit of reading an entire book a day just to quell his curiosity about the ending.

Sanzo smirked at the memory.

His fingers hovered on the edges and the spines of the books on the lacquered, wooden shelves, and he picked a title that piqued his interest—a book among the many of its own. Recently published, and today was the release date, judging from the big, red sign hanging over the shelf. He eyed for the identity of the author, and found none.

Odd.

He turned it over and read the blurb written in white letters against a black cover. Satisfied with the short summary, he flipped over to the first chapter, and read a few pages, and soon, he couldn’t let go of the book until he heard the distinctive, loud slapping of a palm against smooth wood.

Placing his index in between the pages he was on as a temporary bookmark, he looked around and tried to locate the bothersome sound, and soon found Goku running over to him with an expression like that of confusion. In his hands were three, thick, paperbound books, and looked around as soon as he stood in front of the blond.

“What’s that noise? I went over here quickly to check if you’re okay, and you’re okay, but where is that noise?” he peered around in between the shelves, yet couldn’t sense where the echoing sound came from.

Sanzo did the same and frowned, “Doesn’t look like they’re doing a construction right now. Everything looks fine—”

Just then, a voice so familiar to Sanzo boomed from the far edge of a shelf near the stationery section, and he and Goku darted over to where the yelling was.

As soon as Sanzo recognized the familiar silhouette of the person from behind, however, he pulled Goku behind the nearest shelf with him.

“Hey, what—”

“Ssh. Look closely, and don’t make a scene just yet.”

Goku blinked and nodded, and they peered from the shelf.

There, standing in front of a teller, was a man slamming his hand on the counter, his arms splayed in tension as he spewed words to the woman almost in tears.

“What do you mean you don’t have additional copies? Surely you must be wrong! Houtou’s never wrong! It needs to be delivered _today!_ What if our readers need extra copies of our book? We need to put out more!”

The clerk took a step back and flinched as the man let out a yell and slammed his palm on the counter once more.

Goku, silent at the unfolding scene a few feet from them, looked up at Sanzo, “Isn’t that that Zakuro person?”

Sanzo grunted an affirmative, “What’s he prattling about? He could have just waited for new orders for the books instead of badgering a teller.”

Zakuro howled curses as he stormed out of the store, arms flailing upwards in resignation. “The president will hear from this! Mark my words, peasants. Hmph!” And the store was left stunned.

“Well, that was awkward,” Goku mumbled, and he went over to the counter, asking the teller about Zakuro. Sanzo, meanwhile, idly stood by, watching the exchange with mild interest.

“That man came earlier and went around the shelves and settled there in front of that shelf with the red sign on it,” and she pointed a finger on the shelf that where Sanzo had been moments prior.

“The novels section?” Sanzo inquired, “What about it?”

The teller wiped an unshed tear from her eye and spoke with a quiver, “He asked me how many books from Houtou are in today. I told him it was 250, which was our usual amount per day, and he said it was the wrong amount and that there should have been more copies because Houtou customers wanted more, so he demanded that there be more! Then he called for the manager, and the manager kindly explained about it, but the man wouldn’t listen, and he started yelling at me at how I suck at my job and kept pounding on the counter and it was awful!”

Sanzo glanced at Goku, then at the book that he had been holding for a while. “So, you’re saying that this book here—is from Houtou?” He raised it up for the teller to see, and she nodded.

“That’s the one. ‘Meurtre de Humain’. The one he keeps claiming that gets raving reviews to their mail.”

Sanzo inspected the cover. Plain and black and paperbound. Seemed to be 300 pages at most. The lettering was nothing special, just the usual glossed and embossed, red-filled font. On the back was the blurb he had read, and at the very bottom of the back cover was Houtou’s logo—the face of the open-mouthed raven with the worm in its mouth.

“What’s it about?” Goku asked as he eyed the book in Sanzo’s hand. “Looks like you’ve been reading it for a while. Your finger in between the pages says so.”

“A page-turner, that’s for sure.”

“That doesn’t explain it. Is it a suspenseful one?”

Sanzo barely nodded, quite unsure at how to describe the book in a few words. Its content was decent at first. It didn’t even bother with the too thin, too cramped up spacing. Wording was crude at its best, but what managed to drew him in was the amount of detail in each scene, right down to the minute bone and marrow and vein and blood and flesh. Its content drew him in a subtle hypnosis and couldn’t help but to want to read more—

When Sanzo had finally responded to Goku’s voice and light arm nudge, Sanzo looked startled and realized the book had already ended up in Goku’s hands.

“You dropped it like it burned you, Sanzo. Are you ill? Do you need to take a rest?” Goku’s voice crept to Sanzo’s ears like warmth after the storm, and the blond nodded absentmindedly to himself, composure failing as he spoke.

“I’m—okay. Just—let’s get that book and research on it—or something,” Sanzo rasped, and Goku, on instinct, placed the back of his hand to the blond’s forehead.

“You’re breaking into a sweat—I’ll take you home, okay? Miss, he’ll buy this book. And I’ll take these three more.”

* * *

Goku knew the book had to be something really weird if it could shook Sanzo—of all people—speechless. So when he had taken the liberty to claim Sanzo’s couch for himself, he pored over the book and read it page by page as he ate chips, while the blond quietly sulked in the kitchen, eating the tilapia parmesan with mayo on the side that Goku prepared for him.

The brunet knew by heart that Sanzo didn’t own a book that involved senseless brutality—even in Kinzan, he refused to take books that featured nothing but glorified and revered violence. Goku realized, as he turned over a page to another chapter, that reading this particular book gave Sanzo an uncanny effect like that of being in a severe culture shock. The blond had only chucked it on the sofa and didn’t spare it a glance earlier.

Sanzo had stated that the book gave him bile that circled in his stomach and curdled in his throat, and Goku had taken note of the goose-pimpled flesh that appeared on Sanzo’s arms while he retold the images the book gave him.

Goku snatched potato chip after potato chip as he read, quite aware of Sanzo looking at the back of his head from the kitchen. And when the chips ran out, he finally craned his neck to the blond, “Hey, Sanzo. This book is like, really familiar.”

The clinking of utensils against the plate echoed as Sanzo sprang up and pushed the chair back—surprising a sleeping Tama in the process—and went over to the teen, wearing a face that could make the devil run for his money.

“What do you mean ‘familiar’? You’ve read that before?”

Unfazed by the hinted accusation in his voice and the furious glower being sent to the book in Goku’s hands, the brunet shook his head. He had always known that Sanzo would never allow him to read such asinine books, fearing it might ‘addle Goku’s brain cells even more’, and had often lent him works about nature and legends and wildlife and the occasional philosophy instead, to which Goku have always happily accepted and read in three days time.

Goku was proud, to say the least, that his stomach was stronger than Sanzo’s.

“No, not read, really. More like, heard of it in the news before. Heard of the disappearances of the people in the central lately? The ones with the victims being killed for ‘no reason’ at all? I think this is basically it. The press was all over that story for months.”

“The news about salarymen and higher ups in companies being killed? Yeah, I’ve read about that, but the details on the news are scarce.”

“Gojyo told me about it when he picked me up from Godworks. Says the murders going around were from an underground alliance or something.” Goku folded the edge of the page he was on and closed the book, ignoring Sanzo’s disapproving look at the dog-eared page. “Gojyo always makes sure Kinzan is safe while you’re out doing your work, you know. Because why would you give him numerous days off other than making him prowl the streets and gather info?”

“...I actually give him days off so he wouldn’t give me shit and bother me while I’m working. I’m pretty much capable on my own, not because I order him to gather info.”

“...Oh.”

The silence that followed hung thick in the air, and Goku pursed his lips and looked away. Sanzo, sensing the accidental avowal, grunted a laugh. “So. That’s what he’s been doing while I give him days off, eh.” Sanzo hummed, and regarded the book with a suspecting glance. “He told you about the actual details of these murders that the media is covering up? I know that undine has questionable company, but hearing it from you sounds strange.”

“He told me he got that bit from that friend of his. The one that Hakkai always gives angry looks with.”

“Banri, huh. I see.” He went around the couch and sat on it. He took his phone from the coffee table and dialed Gojyo’s number. Goku, puzzled about it, scooted over to the blond and listened to the phone ringing. When it did pick up, the sound of cackling boomed through the receiver, loud enough for even Goku to hear.

Sanzo grimaced at the sound, and when the laughter died down, Sanzo drummed his index on his lap, impatience ringing from his voice. “Listen, I’ll cut to the chase. What does Banri know of the businessmen being killed in central district? ...It’s important, so just tell me. ...Fuck no I’m not asking that so I could join in on your shady business with firearms, shit-for-brains. He—he deals with them? The fuck?”

Just then, Goku leaned on the blond and insistently tugged on Sanzo’s sleeve, whining, “Put him on speaker so I can hear it, too! Sanzo, put him on speaker!”

“All right, all right—stop tearing my shirt—...no, it’s Goku. ...Of course he’s with me, you ass. He lives just below my floor, we’re bound to fucking meet at some point. ...The fuck are you talking about? No, it’s not what you think. ...Fuck off and mind your business. Goku, stop pulling on my shirt, dammit— ...Fuck off, shithead. I’ll put you on speaker, the monkey wants to hear it.” Goku stopped tugging on Sanzo’s shirt as soon as Sanzo put Gojyo on loudspeaker, and the sound of a TV bounced off the speaker, along with Gojyo’s voice resounding in static.

“ _Okay, so Banri doesn’t really deal with the killers, you know? Word just gets around. He simply sells guns and shit, and some clients tell him stories about it. Some of them swore they saw some of the recent killings, but I say it’s just a tall tale. But still. Pretty gory stuff, if you ask me. The gun sales are on the rise because of it, seeking the firearms’ protection, they say. But it’s pretty much a double-edged sword. Most of his clients nowadays don’t even know how to fucking clean the damn gun._ ”

Sanzo huffed, “Basically, they’re first time gun handlers who don’t know shit.”

“ _Exactly. Why did you ask this, by the way?_ ”

The blond glanced at Goku, “Goku told me that you told him about it. And then there’s this book we bought. It’s about—”

“It’s about the gory stuff you told me about! This book is almost exactly like what the news said, and what you told me about!” Goku interrupted with flailing arms. “The one with the chopped limbs and heads and being put in bags and thrown into rivers! Only, this one’s worse! It uses human flesh as—mmph!” He looked at a scowling Sanzo, who had stifled his rant with his hand.

“Don’t go into every detail, idiot. I just fucking ate. Gojyo, this book we bought earlier has an uncanny resemblance to the—... _stories_ you told Goku. Call it coincidence if you will, but I want to have a list of all of Banri’s clients. I have a feeling it’ll be important.”

“ _You’re asking for the impossible, man. That guy’s got tons of clients. I have no problems getting it all, you know—but you’re asking for an encyclopedia’s worth of—_ ”

“I’ll give you a raise.”

The sound of TV on the other line went mute, and so did Gojyo. Goku blinked at the phone, and Sanzo stared at it with one eyebrow raised. And then—

“ _You got me there. All right. I’ll do it. When do you want it?_ ”

“As soon as possible. If you could get it now, get it now,” Sanzo demanded.

“ _A’ight. A’ight. I got it. Give me any clue as to why I should do this?_ ”

Goku looked at Sanzo. The brunet wondered about it, too—about Sanzo’s sudden fascination with the book that made him sick. Sure, the book was from Houtou, but still—

Sanzo took the book from Goku’s hands, and eyed the title with disgust.

“Kami might be one of his clients.”

* * *

Zakuro grunted as he exited his constantly dim office. He ignored his job of finishing another book—he always made sure to mirror his mood with his dim office, the only light he allowed was from the light peering in between his venetian blinds.

Today, he was out for blood.

He had seen and replayed the tapes Genjo Sanzo had given him—the tapes about the shooting incident in Kinzan, and Zakuro had came to the conclusion that Kami, that bastard from Godworks and also the Houtou chief’s favorite, had tried to kill Kinzan’s CEO to aim for Zakuro’s current position as a Houtou supervisor. There was no other reason than that. Houtou and Godworks worked as sister companies only as a façade, but underneath it all, there was a deeper and darker reason behind it all.

As one of Houtou’s supervisors and writers, he had a reputation to uphold, and it was to make sure that the books with his name on it would make it to the top sales.

Only, he had yet to make it to the top sales.

He had often wondered why any book he had ever made never reached to the top despite the reviews he had received in his mail. Something had to be missing.

Zakuro frowned as he descended the elevator.

He knew that Kami had at least one connection to Houtou that gave him free rein to do whatever he so damn well pleased—and it made Zakuro flush in anger.

The elevator doors opened, and he saw a black-haired man dressed in a pure white coat and tie from head to toe.

Zakuro gave the man a slight upward tug of his lips and bowed, muttering a curt, “Chief” as he stepped out of the elevator.

The chief didn’t spare him a glance, a nod, a quirk of an eyebrow, or even a muttered ‘hi’. The white-clad man simply stepped inside the elevator and pressed the button for the doors to close, ignoring him completely, leaving the bowing blond in front of the doors—

“—like an idiot...!” he muttered to himself. And he choked his wounded pride as he strode out of the building that was both the boon and bane of his existence.

In his early days, he had always thought of Houtou as an icon, with its tallness and almost fortress-like façade. For a then young Zakuro, Houtou was like his temple, a place that was worthy to be revered by many for its immense collections of books that they have published over the years. He had sworn to work under its influence when he was young, and when he had finally landed a job as a temp, he started having doubts, but had always turned a blind eye and a deaf ear to anything.

The first job the chief had given to him as a freelance writer was a very strange request, to say the least.

After being summoned to the chief’s office through the loud speakers scattered all over Houtou—he was ordered to punch another temp in the face for going to work late that day.

Zakuro had initially asked questions, and was met with a stern glare from the chief’s PA.

Zakuro had held his tongue and obeyed, and when the other temp begged for mercy to the chief, the chief had merely huffed and looked away with the eyes of boredom.

Then came more requests, getting stranger and stranger, and when his big break arrived after being permanent in Houtou, he had received his first official job as a Houtou writer—

—and that was to kill a man that he had never seen before.

He had obeyed, though only after he was promised of a place of his own, and a steady rise in the company, as long as he killed.

“‘Everything you will experience, you’ll write in your books—and they’ll love you for it,’ he says,” Zakuro muttered in distaste, his brows now drawn in knots as he entered the bookstore he usually frequented.

This bookstore was smaller compared to the other one with the manager he badgered, but hearing anonymous customers’ comments about his books might give him an idea on what to improve on. Maybe today would be the day he’d get a boost in sales?

He entered the store, and went straight to the novels section, where he was sure to find a shelf full of his books with customers lining up to get a copy. He suddenly felt a surge of excitement—only for it to come crashing down in mere seconds when he saw a gaggle of girls huddling over a shelf and a stand that were filled with books from Kinzan.

Kinzan’s logo of the lilac lotus with the golden-tipped petals seemed to mock Zakuro all the way to his core, and he scowled as he grumbled his way to where his books stood in a neat stack in a shelf that was much bigger than the shelf with Kinzan books.

So why wasn’t anyone coming over to get a copy?

He got his answer in the form of the same gaggle of girls wandering around the aisles of books and settling to where he was. Pretending to read a book himself, one girl took a book from the shelf and opened it, only for another girl to stop her from reading it, saying the book was weird and no one in their school would read it because of its controversy and the way it portrayed people as mere meat.

Zakuro blanched as the girl’s eyes widened and she nodded as she returned to the shelf with Kinzan books. He tried not to look completely dejected as he exited the bookstore.

Outside, the sky looked grim, with its gray and looming clouds on the city. He kicked a nearby can and started making his way back to his flat, when he saw a familiar blond walking on the other side of the street, wearing a dark blue suit and black slacks.

Zakuro huffed and almost yelled and pointed a finger at Kinzan’s president when he stopped upon seeing that he was not alone.

Walking beside the pale blond was the boy from the video he watched, the one who got shot in place of Genjo Sanzo. The boy looked leaner in person with his long-sleeved, maroon dress shirt and dark slacks.

Kinzan Publishing was nearby, and the streets were bound to have Kinzan employees scattering about, and it’d do him no good if he would make a scene.

So he calmly observed as the blond listened to the boy talk and flail his arms about, and Zakuro crossed the street and followed them, staying a good few paces behind. At one point, the two stopped in their tracks and looked around, and Zakuro had to crouch behind a fruit stand.

Zakuro had just realized that the two of them have a sharp intuition.

When the coast was clear, he followed them once again, until they went inside a restaurant that catered Italian food. Zakuro stopped as he watched the two take a table on the far edge of the room, when a waitress interrupted his musings.

“Table for how many, sir?”

He blinked, and said on instinct, “Just one.”

“Will you or will you not smoke?”

At this, Zakuro almost laughed. Of course he wouldn’t smoke! Why would he—? But then he saw Genjo Sanzo taking out a cigarette and started smoking—

“I won’t smoke, but—” He pointed to where Genjo Sanzo and the boy sat, “Put me to the table where those two are. I need to talk to them.”

The waitress, puzzled by the request, nodded and wrote something on her list, and led him to where the two men were ordering their first course.

“Um, customers. This customer wishes to sit with you, is that all right?” asked the waitress, and Genjo Sanzo looked up and scowled, and opened his mouth to retort when the boy beside him piped up with a grin.

“It’s all right. Right, Sanzo?”

Sanzo tutted, “What. Hey, Goku. What are you—” He stopped when Goku, who had seated in front of Sanzo, slid his way on the round, red booth seat, and draped a hand on the pale blond’s shoulder and pulled him close, whispering something to him. All the while, Zakuro started to regret his decision in following them, when the boy kept glancing at him as he whispered to Genjo Sanzo—

—Zakuro noted the proximity they had, and how the pale blond seemed to be quite fine with another person touching him almost intimately.

Well, that was an unexpected sight. He had always thought Kinzan’s president was unapproachable as the rumors said—

Genjo Sanzo sighed and pulled away from the boy, “Fine. You can sit with us.”

The waitress, satisfied, smiled to Zakuro and handed him a menu. “Please enjoy your stay!” And she went away.

Zakuro looked at his feet as he sat stiffly in front of the two, feeling their eyes locked on him as he tried and failed not to fidget in his seat. And when he was about to say something, the boy, Goku, chirped up with a warm smile.

“Hey, Zakuro, right? Why are you here? Ah. Don’t tell me. You’re here to try out the new Milanese polenta, too! I knew it! Sanzo, I told you the polenta will be awesome!”

Sanzo, unenthused with Goku’s praise for the food, chose to smoke and openly glare at Zakuro. The pale blond casually draped an arm behind Goku’s seat and let out a trail of smoke. “Hey, pissface. You the one who followed us earlier, yeah?” Goku blinked and looked at Zakuro, who looked away and hid his face.

“So he was,” Goku noted, and turned to Sanzo. “I’m hungry, Sanzo. I wish there were onion rings or something while we wait.”

“Tch. Have patience and wait for the food, idiot. Hey,” Sanzo knocked his fist on the table twice, and when Zakuro looked up, Sanzo raised an eyebrow in question. “Well? You followed us here, so surely you must be needing something. Did the video finally get to tell you that what we said was true?”

Zakuro heaved a deep sigh, and his shoulders shifted along with his body in awkwardness. Gone was his usual air of arrogance—it being replaced by shuffling thumbs and squared shoulders. “Yes. And I realized—you see, Genjo Sanzo, I, Zakuro, have come you for... for...”

He mumbled as he hid his face once more, and Sanzo grew irritated and knocked on the table again.

“For what?”

“For aid!” Zakuro yelled, and the nearby patrons looked at their table curiously, and Sanzo growled. Zakuro, hastily bowed in apology to the startled diners and waiters, and repeated himself to the pale blond. “For aid, I mean.”

“Hmph. So the great Zakuro finally realizes that he’s not so great, after all,” Sanzo huffed as he drew out another drag of the smoke, and smirked at Zakuro’s flinch. He hummed when Goku tapped him on the shoulder and leaned in to whisper.

“ _You think we could get info out of him? He is from Houtou, after all_ ,” Goku muttered, eyeing the tanned blond who looked at them with a blank face.

Sanzo pondered over the thought with idle tapping of the finger on the table, and he mouthed to Goku’s lips, opting not to cover his mouth the way Goku had. He side-glanced at Zakuro as he breathed in undertone, “ _We’ll see. But for now, let’s hear what he has to say. Doesn’t look like he’s picking a fight today. I’m not in the mood to waste energy in a fight, either._ ”

Goku nodded and returned his attention to the silent Zakuro, and when the tanned blond spoke, it was not something that the two expected.

“You know, you two look really close.” At this, Sanzo and Goku looked startled, and blinked at the unsuspecting Zakuro. The tanned blond shrugged at the vague reaction, “I mean, at first you don’t look like anyone could talk to you, Genjo Sanzo. But I swear I could tell that you two are dating—”

The click of the gun’s safety going off reached Goku’s ears, and before he knew it, Sanzo’s foot was already on the table, his form towering over a wide-eyed Zakuro as Sanzo’s gun nudged against his temple.

“I fucking dare you to say that again,” Sanzo drawled with a venomous hiss.

“Sa-Sanzo! Don’t pull out your gun in public! ...ah. I’m sorry, I’m sorry. Please excuse us, I’m sorry,” he apologized quickly to the nearby diners in shock, and he simultaneously pulled Sanzo back to his seat with a hushed reprimand. “I thought you said you want to hear what he had to say and you don’t want to start a fight?”

“Well, he fucking started it,” Sanzo hissed and scowled at the brunet as he tucked his gun back inside his pocket. Goku pouted, miffed, and soothed his thumb on Sanzo’s shoulder, calming him down with muttered whispers to his ear, and when Sanzo had calmed down, Zakuro’s booming laughter met their ears, his meekness moments prior now vanished into thin air.

“Gyahaha! So that’s what it takes to rile you up, Genjo Sanzo!” He shook his head, palms held up in a shrug, “But worry not, Genjo Sanzo, for I, the great Zakuro, chose not to divulge into your scurrilous affairs—unless, of course, you wish to tell me.” Zakuro propped an elbow to the table with a dismissive wave of the hand and smirked, “I merely wish to grant me a listening ear. You see, Kinzan has been flourishing lately, and the thing is—Houtou House had always been three steps ahead of you since the beginning. It has always been that way. But lately, I’ve been seeing—”

The food arrived for Goku and Sanzo, and they ate, with Goku beaming his thanks to the chef as he wolfed down his Milanese polenta, and Sanzo muttering his thanks as he dug into his Roman egg drop soup, all the while, the two talked to themselves about which food tasted good.

“—...zan being, imperious, shall we say, about the published books. I know very well that Houtou House always boasted numbers in sales and—”

Goku chewed on his food noisily, looking at the new diners coming into the restaurant with bright eyes. Sanzo sipped on his Semillon, and muttered about how Goku looked sloppy with bits of corn and tomatoes all over his mouth. He groaned curses as he wiped off the mess from Goku’s face, and the latter grinned his thanks.

“—Kinzan had just recently broke away from tradition in selling religious books since you took over, right? I must say, Genjo Sanzo, that’s a very bold move. I heard you recently let romances into your line? That’s quite odd, indeed, so I was saying—”

Goku took a gulp of his sangria and was halfway done with his polenta when the next course arrived, and he cheered as he put the plate of veal cutlets next to his half-finished dish. Sanzo, meanwhile, silently placed his steaming plate of lemony tuna next to his Roman egg drop soup, muttered his thanks, and drank more of his wine.

“—I wonder if such a thing were possible for a vile and vulgar Buddhist such as you, Genjo Sanzo. I mean, _romances_ , really? I would think that something that involved guns would be more of your thing. How could you even put romances in your line? Isn’t that against your policy—”

Sanzo raised his finger and called on a nearby waiter for a small bowl of mayonnaise, and Goku ordered for the next course. He urged Sanzo to try the sangria, and the blond shrugged and held out his glass for the drink, mixing it with the Semillon, and upon drinking it, he mumbled about the sangria mixing quite well with the white wine.

“—hey. You two. Are you even listening to me?”

“No, we’re not,” was their instant reply in unison, and Goku muffled a giggle behind a mouthful of stuffed veal as Zakuro stuttered for a decent retort.

“We came here to eat. So naturally, we will eat. We’ll be on our third course in a few minutes and you still haven’t ordered anything, if you notice,” came Sanzo’s aloof reply as he took a forkful of the tuna.

Zakuro blinked, and only now did he notice the lack of food in front of him, and before he could even reply, Goku butted in with a glare.

“No. No, you can’t have my food. It’s mine,” and Goku took the plate of veal cutlets next to Sanzo’s rice pudding, and huffed at Zakuro.

Sanzo gulped down his sangria and Semillon mix, and pointed at Zakuro with a fork, “Order your own food. Don’t mooch off of me. I already have my hands full enough with this monkey—hey. Goku. What did you put on my plate?”

“You didn’t take any veal, so I put one on your plate. It’s delicious!”

“Oh? Did you hit your head? Why are you offering me your food? I thought you just said you didn’t want to share? Heh. Who are you and what have you done to my stupid monkey?” he joked with a lopsided smirk at the golden-eyed teen. Nevertheless, Sanzo took a bite of the veal on his plate, and hummed in silent approval at the taste. “You do this one next.”

Goku grinned and nodded, and Zakuro sat in silence as the president and his assistant talked in hushed tones, with their fingers and shoulders fleetingly brushing against their clothed skins—like they have created a world of their own in a few minutes.

In the end, he couldn’t speak of his plea for advice, and the only thing that Zakuro had found during his meal with the infamous Genjo Sanzo was that despite all the wild rumors stating that the pale blond had a heart of an impenetrable iceberg, Genjo Sanzo had, in fact, a heart buried underneath all of that cold exterior he showed in public—

—at least, that heart only emerged when he was with this high-spirited boy.

Zakuro wondered about his own boss back at Houtou—as he looked at the boy’s jovial expression and the pale man’s grimace at being offered another piece of stuffed veal—and Zakuro concluded his epiphany—

“Here, Sanzo, take the last one, since you like it so much.”

“The fuck are you on? Eat it, stupid. I still have my tuna. The next course is here, idiot. Stop shoving it on me and eat it!”

—that having a foul-mouthed, but secretly kind superior like Genjo Sanzo might not be too bad, after all.

* * *

Zakuro returned home to his luxurious flat and fell face first on the couch. After his dinner with Kinzan’s president and his assistant, Zakuro felt a heavy feeling inside him, and he carried it with him as he dragged his slipper-clad feet to the carpeted floor, frowning.

He made it to the kitchen to drink water, trying to clear away the vision of his boss being the actual cold one instead of Kinzan’s. He turned around, muttering his thoughts to himself—

—and the glass in his hand fell to the floor into pieces as his forehead was met with a gun.

In front of him stood the blond with the birthmark on his right eye, with Kami’s glacial glare piercing Zakuro’s chartreuse eyes.

“Hello, Zakuro. I came to collect my dues.”

Zakuro whipped out his gun from his pocket, and aimed it straight at Kami’s temple, silently catching the telltale speckles and dashes of blood against Kami’s white clothes and pale face.

Kami was out to dethrone Zakuro, indeed.

“I just started out, Kami. Don’t think you can off me so easily.”

The sound of a gunshot was heard, and a laughing Kami lunged at the glowering Zakuro as they fought in the night, with bullets wheezing past walls and glass and wood, both shooting and crouching for a decent hiding place—

Zakuro cursed as he reloaded his gun, eyes frantic in search of the suddenly silent intruder.

“An SNS. You have an SNS for a gun. Really?”

Zakuro whipped around to see Kami standing behind him—

—and as Kami kicked Zakuro in the ribs, Zakuro heaved and fell to the floor.

The last thing he saw as he felt the gun prickling against his torso was a coldly smiling Kami towering over him.

“Try putting this in your next book this time.”

The bullet pierced through Zakuro’s flesh, and he fell in a motionless heap beneath Kami’s apathetic gaze.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Goku thinks of a way to get Sanzo cut back on smoking.

The clamor of people rang throughout the halls. From all around, the ear-grating sound of the microphone screeching bellowed in the air, and Sanzo tutted, and tapped the mic again.

“Test—okay. As you all know, we are neck and neck with Houtou this first quarter of the year, and I intend to keep it up to that. Our subsidiary, Keiun Publishing, is also doing a very great job of not getting slaughtered by Godworks and Golden Pendants this year. Hell, maybe we could exceed these companies next quarter. Apparently, putting the romances on the shelves was a good move. Sha, you’ll get to throw a party for your department for that.”

The crowd cheered and clapped as they looked at the back of the hall, where Jien stomped and held himself back as he raised a fist in the air, chortling as Yaone giggled and held him back from whooping too much in joy. Behind them, Gojyo and Goku stood by the doorway, holding back laughs of their own.

“So, if you have any other suggestions on how to improve our line, do so now. If not, hell, you could all go to lunch or something.”

Some of the editors clapped and grinned, while the others shrugged and looked at some of the people, waiting for the others to say something. The idle chatter of the crowd simmered down, the atmosphere quite relaxed.

“If there’s none, we could just call it a—”

The murmuring of the crowd’s idle chatter slowly came to a halt, however, when a hand raised from the front, and Sanzo shrugged and let Homura take the floor.

“Attention, everyone. Let’s not be hasty in our departure just yet,” he smiled to the crowd. “The president hasn’t raised the question that is the most important question of all.”

“The fuck are you talking about?” came Sanzo’s echoing reply from the side of the podium, and Homura chuckled.

“Everyone, let’s not forget about the incident a few months back. Surely, we were hired in Kinzan for a reason, right?” The glib smile on Homura’s face graced the crowd, and his arms were held open as he spoke. “As we all know, there’s another recent murder involving one of Houtou’s employees—”

“Hag, are you hearing this shit?” Sanzo hissed and pointed at Homura as he went down the podium and glared at his aunt. Kanzeon shrugged with nonchalance, an amused smile painted on her lips.

“Yes I am, and I like what I’m hearing,” and she glanced at Homura. “Konzen, I sometimes think it would’ve been better if he were my nephew, don’t you think? He has charisma without sounding like a goon.”

“Feh. It would’ve done me a lot good, then,” he drawled as he held up an unlit cigarette to his lips and raised an eyebrow at Homura’s little pep talk.

Kanzeon giggled, and draped her elbow on Sanzo’s shoulder, her voice laced with sweetness as she turned her violet eyes to Sanzo’s frown, “Then maybe I might have given Goku to him if that were the case.”

The cigarette in Sanzo’s lips snapped in half as he looked at her with a murderous glare. “You wouldn’t fucking dare.”

“Oh? But you wouldn’t be my relative, therefore I wouldn’t have any reason to take care of you, or give Goku to you.” Her tone dripped with sheer amusement at seeing her nephew giving her the eyes of a cold-blooded man.

Sanzo snarled and said nothing more, and whipped his head back to the podium, where Homura kept smiling and talking to the crowd.

“—and I would like to address our beloved president, Genjo Sanzo, to direct us about the reality behind Houtou House, and what measures we could take to ensure all of the Kinzan employees’ safety,” Homura glanced at Goku standing by the exit, then at Sanzo. “President, we were all hired, and some of us here are living in Kinzan, because we have a very _specific_ set of skills. And maybe, perhaps—now is the best time for us to... test those skills against the very company that openly wants you dead?”

The crowd fell into a complete hush as all eyes fell on Kinzan’s president.

Sighing, Sanzo removed Kanzeon’s elbow on his shoulder and returned to the podium, his eyebrow twitching at Homura’s bow and knowing smirk, and the black-haired man returned to his seat.

“If you’re thinking about me getting shot and having another idiot take that shot—” Sanzo started, ignoring the pairs of eyes that glanced Goku’s way, “—then no, I don’t want your skills to be tested, and end up dying for my sake. That’s just shit.” The crowd’s murmurs reached his ears, and Sanzo gritted his teeth at some of the pleading eyes, silently telling him that they wanted to help their president.

Kanzeon’s leadership prior to him taking over was drilled deeply into Kinzan’s core, it seemed—

—‘everyone under Kinzan’s care will follow their present leader and keep him safe until another one takes over,’ those have been her words, and they were following it through and through.

“ _But_.”

Hopeful eyes snapped to the front, looking at Sanzo with bated breath. From the doorway, the blond could tell that Goku looked rigid in his stance, with a churning flame waiting to bloom from his golden eyes.

The brunet was waiting for an order.

“If there would come another day when Kinzan would be attacked, I want every one of you to hold nothing back. Kill or be killed. I’m fucking sure you all know your weapons and know where to get aid if anyone’s injured.”

The solemn nods of some of the employees met Sanzo’s approving, yet stern stare, and he nodded back when he saw Goku smile. “Kinzan is, as you are all aware, not entirely a normal publishing house. Just as Houtou is also not a normal publishing house. The only difference we have from Houtou is we don’t condone killing amongst our fucking own. And if I hear someone trying to pull that shit here, I’m going to make sure you’ll go west and never see another sunrise. Got it?”

A loud and resounding, “Yes, sir!” rang in the room, and Sanzo waved his hand in dismissal.

“Well, what are you still doing here? Go on and have lunch.”

The loud clattering of chairs and cheerful cacophony of voices bounded all around, and Sanzo finally let out a deep sigh as the people slowly flowed towards the exit, and he went down the podium with a scowl directed to Homura.

“What shit did you try to pull just now?” the blond growled at Homura’s condescending smile.

“I assure you, Konzen, I’m merely reminding them why they remain in Kinzan. Under you and the vice president’s orders, we will move according to what you two say. And if you two are threatened in any way, especially in front of our eyes—” Homura patted Sanzo’s shoulder, and his face turned to sheer amusement, “— _we’ll slaughter them to pieces_.”

“Hn. Are you sure that’s not your hate for Houtou speaking? Don’t drag everyone in this building for your revenge.” Sanzo lazily drawled with narrowed eyes, and he swatted Homura’s hand away. From a distance, Goku jogged his way towards the blond, his usual grin in place. Sanzo glanced at the brunet, and set his face in his usual, bored expression, and walked away from Homura.

“But Konzen, wasn’t it you who started this mission?” Homura retorted with a smile, and his blue and golden eyes shifted to Goku, who now stood near Sanzo—oblivious to it all.

The blond stopped in his tracks, and turned to him with a sidelong glare.

“Don’t compare me to you.”

And Sanzo went away, with Goku following him closely. Homura huffed, a toothy grin splitting his face as he chuckled.

“You know, Ms. Kanzeon, your nephew is amusing.”

Kanzeon, who had been talking to a bumbling Jiroushin, turned to the grinning man. “What did he do this time?”

Homura shrugged, his eyes following the blond and the brunet’s retreating backs. Goku cheered something to Sanzo, to which the latter replied with ruffling Goku’s hair. “He is unaware of his actions, isn’t he? He cannot completely follow what his father taught him.”

She laughed, her stacked bracelets clinking against each other as she tucked a stray strand of her hair behind her ear. “He is stubborn like that. I am sure he is still following them—at least he _thinks_ he’s still following them. But that child of mine is worming his way between Koumyou’s ‘non-attachment rule’ and Konzen himself. Pretty sure he’s not aware of it. But isn’t it nice, though? My little nephew is finally growing up,” she giggled, and patted Homura’s back. “Maybe someday you could find someone who could change you as well.”

“That someone is dead, Ms. Kanzeon.”

“I know. That’s why you don’t need to drag my whole company down to your revenge plot. I know how Konzen gets when people that he refuses to admit are close to him are harmed.”

She twirled a piece of his fringe in her hand, and gave him a little smile—her words an echo of a warning.

“You’ll be unleashing hell.”

* * *

Sanzo stared and glared at the documents piled on his desk. To think that his work in the office wasn’t enough, his aunt thought it was a good idea to give him work at home, too.

“That hag better give me a fucking year off for this.”

“But Sanzo, you’re the boss,” laughed Goku from Sanzo’s bed, “you should be the one doing your year off. You can do it!”

“Fuck you, too.”

Goku rolled on the bed and snickered, and turned his attention back to the book that he bought last week. He had already finished reading Houtou’s Meurtre de Humain three days ago, much to Sanzo’s chagrin. The man had yet to glance at the book, not that Goku expected him to pick it up and continue reading it again.

He had already finished looking over the large list of names that Gojyo had sent to Sanzo, but contrary to what the blond expected, Kami had never been a client of Banri. And Sanzo had taken a step back, and tried to analyze—again—who Meurtre de Humain’s author was. If many of Houtou authors’ works were based on their personal experiences, then Gojyo’s report about it involving an underground alliance might not be far off.

Goku heard the creaking of the swivel chair, and glanced to where Sanzo leaned against it, and stared listlessly on the ceiling, mumbling softly to himself. “You need a break?” the brunet asked as he rolled over, looking curiously at Sanzo’s upside-down form from the edge of the bed.

“Nah,” the blond idly replied as he puffed on a cigarette, “I’m just mentally wringing myself with all this shit.”

Goku folded the edge of a page’s corner and closed the book, and went over to the frowning blond. “Need more help?”

“I’m good,” Sanzo muttered, letting a steady waft of smoke swirl to Goku’s face, and smirked upon seeing the brunet scratch his nose.

“One of these days, you’re going to permanently taste like complete ash, you know—and that’s not good,” Goku frowned as the blond puffed more of the stick. Fighting back another word of reprimand, he took away the cigarette from Sanzo’s unresisting lips.

Sanzo blew out the last stream of smoke from his lips and watched as Goku took the half-full ashtray and flattened the butt there. “Planning on making me quit?” he asked with a lopsided simper, his steady gaze not leaving Goku’s face. Looking at him from upside-down made the brunet look funny.

“No. Just wished you could cut back a bit,” Goku mumbled, and placed the ashtray on the desk. He held his arms akimbo and stared down at the purple-eyed man, and noticed his barely there upward curling of lips. “What?”

“Nothing.”

Goku hummed, bit his inner cheek in thought, and regarded the pale man’s nearly relaxed mood.

He bit back a grin as his eyes took in Sanzo’s calm form—and loosely snaked his arms around Sanzo’s shoulders, his fingers trailing down, toying with the buttons of the blond’s shirt.

“Hey. What are you doing.”

A playful chuckle trickled to Sanzo’s ears, the sharp hiss from the brunet making his spine tingle—

“ _Nothing_ ,” Goku parroted with a knowing grin to his ear.

A button popped from its confines, and teeth grazed a slow trail over pale skin—from nape to jaw—relishing in the sight of tiny, raised hairs left in its wake. Nibbling on a gradually reddening lobe—Sanzo was sensitive like that—Goku grinned at Sanzo’s labored breathing, his parted, ruddy lips trembling into a breathless whisper, his eyes fluttering close as Goku’s fingers popped another button open, nails lightly tracing the expanse of jutting bone and toned flesh.

“ _Goku_.”

Canines bit onto Sanzo’s jugular, sucking noisily on the pulsating skin there—and he moaned in appreciation upon having a strong hand dig into his scalp and keep his place there.

Another button popped, and a clawed hand raked nails down the sinewy torso, and he licked the blotched skin as streaks of flushed pink followed the wandering hand. Glazed, golden eyes noticed the minute undulating of hips from beneath his fingertips, and Goku popped another button, groaning as Sanzo’s nails scratched his scalp—

Goku’s middle finger ghosted over the inviting sternum, twirling the pad of his finger around as Sanzo’s hold on the brown locks slackened the slightest, his pale digits smoothing and scrunching and pulling on Goku’s hair all the same.

A guttural moan was ripped from Goku’s throat as Sanzo craned his head and firmly bit on a tanned neck, covertly fervent lips and mouth capturing the flesh in a raspy suction, and Goku let out a breathy laugh on pale and heated skin—

Goku’s other hand roughly pulled Sanzo’s shirt from the confines of his slacks, rumpling the cloth in his ardent hold, and he deftly pried the long sleeve and his slacks open with his hands. His tongue flattened against a bobbing Adam’s apple, wetting it before engulfing it in his mouth, sucking it—and Sanzo’s hand tugged roughly on his hair and pulled Goku away.

The brunet whined, a long and needy ‘what’ leaving his glistening lips—

“What are you doing,” Sanzo rasped as he stared at Goku’s flushed face and puffed up lips dampened with saliva. On instinct, his thumb brushed against those inviting lips—

“Making you cut back on your smokes,” Goku replied with a grin, his tongue darting out to Sanzo’s thumb, and briefly sucked on it. The blond hummed in response, and pulled Goku to his parched mouth, both groaning into the kiss as their hands clenched into fists and tugged and pulled on hair and clothes—

Work forgotten, Sanzo hauled Goku by the back of his thighs, fighting back a grin as the brunet’s arms and legs reflexively wrapped around his shoulders and waist—and dropped him to his bed, mouths rejoining into open-mouthed, searing kisses and responsive moans. A wistful sigh left Goku’s lips as Sanzo pulled away from the kiss and insistently tugged at the brunet’s shirt—

“Impatient, aren’t you?” Goku breathed with a mischievous laugh, his clouded, ocher eyes grinning at Sanzo’s annoyance.

—and the blond growled at Goku’s words, and tore the brunet’s shirt, its buttons leaping from the threads.

Clammy hands drifted on the exposed skin, fingertips brushing over the tanned flesh. His mauve eyes roved over the dips and raises that he had rarely seen—the taut peaks of his dusky nipples, the healed scar on his rib, the jutting clavicles that were practically begging to be bitten—

—the large, four-rayed sun tattoo that painted his skin.

Sanzo had always remarked how odd it was for the feisty brunet to have a tattoo on his abdomen. Yet seeing it now, with its heavy, black ink complementing the bronzed skin, he muttered no complaints as he worshipped Goku’s ink with his lips, tracing his parted mouth on the wavy rays from the sternum to navel, his tongue lapping on the circle, and his teeth nibbling and toying on the thick and flowing cursive symbol of ‘perfect’ inside the sun—

A keening whine slipped past Goku, muttering a silent plea as heated breath played and fanned on his skin, his blood singing in his veins as Sanzo dipped lower, the hunger pooling in their tongues—

The forceful hands clawed at Goku’s jeans, his teeth biting onto a stubborn button and zipper, and violently tore it from too willing legs, and he threw it far from the bed. When it revealed jutting hipbones, bronzed and perfectly toned legs, and a leaking tent covered by low-rise, black boxer briefs, Sanzo’s tongue curled and smoothed over the edge of his upper lip, and he blew warm breath over the tempting bulge, and smirked upon seeing it twitch.

“Your choice of underwear leaves very little to the eyes, I see.”

Goku stuck out his tongue and grinned, and parted his legs more, bathing in the look of approval in Sanzo’s gaze.

A pale hand smacked a meaty thigh. “Turn over.” Goku did, and a deep groan thrummed from his throat as he saw the fabric confining and defining pert globes of flesh peaking sinfully from the seams—

The hand itched and slapped each cheek twice—humming as Goku raised his ass higher with each slap. Sanzo bared his teeth and dived in, taking in mouthfuls of the underside of a cheek and suckled on it. His other hand slithered inside the fabric on the other cheek, raking and kneading the plump flesh in his hand—

He released the reddened cheek with a pop—and Goku mewled at the loss—and Sanzo slapped the firm buttock once more. “On your back.”

Goku did as he was told, his face growing hot and loins throbbing to be touched—

With a guttural grunt, Sanzo buried the clothed turgidness inside his watering mouth—and Goku yelped and grabbed at Sanzo’s scalp, urging him to where it ached the most.

The blond pawed and licked and hummed at the stiffness, and diverted his attention on the head leaking through the fabric, droning heavily around the tip. He savored the urgent whines and the lean legs that jerked and landed on his shoulders, the tanned and shaky hands gripping onto rumpled locks of gold.

Goku let out a steady string of breathless curses and needy variants of the blond’s name, hips now jerking in earnest. In retaliation, Sanzo exposed his teeth, and deftly tugged on the now damp fabric—freeing the hardness that slapped back to a well-toned stomach. His canines ghosted over the seeping head, lips curling upwards at the sight of Goku with his head thrown back, neck exposed and flushed and showing the beginnings of a light sheen of sweat from his jaws—

—and Sanzo swallowed and sucked him until the ridge, slowly shaking his head with every dip and humming deeply around the pulsating muscle. Calloused fingers wrapped around the shaft, stroking it firmly with painfully slow twists—and molten gold met burning violet—

Goku panted and dug his toes on Sanzo’s lower back as his hands wove through the wavy, blond locks, letting his fingers say the breathless affection that his parted mouth currently couldn’t. Sanzo’s eyes hid behind dampened lashes, tongue lapping up and sucking on a velvety sack to his mouth.

Two fingers worked their way and moved languidly inside a puckered and quivering entrance, and Sanzo flattened his tongue along the shaft.

“Come... Coming...—please don’t sto—why did you stop...?” came Goku’s wanton mewl, tears pooling at his eyes at the sudden loss of heat. When Sanzo gave him a complacent, toothy leer and leaned back, however, Goku’s dazed eyes widened, and trailed them to where he had earlier unbuttoned Sanzo’s slacks, and his mouth watered at the sight—

“Heh, here you are telling me of my choice of underwear, when I almost forgot you never wear yours.”

—and Sanzo raised an eyebrow and a smirk slowly crept to his lips as Goku clambered on all fours, his head bent low and his enticing rump raised in the air, and he swallowed him whole, teeth and mouth and tongue aiming for Sanzo’s completion.

The blond hummed as he looked down at Goku, “Should I even ask how you managed to do that without gagging?”

Goku sucked on his inner cheeks and slowly pulled away with a pop, and grinned at him, “’ve been practicing on large bananas just in case this would happen.” And he returned to wrapping his lips around the length, sucking Sanzo whole and taking in all of his length and girth with a continuous hum. Goku failed to see Sanzo’s brow raising at his brazen confession.

“Large bananas, eh. Heh. You really are a fucking monkey.”

Sanzo smoothed his fingers through Goku’s hair, his lips turning upwards at each downward bobbing of the warm mouth, the pink tongue lapping at every inch of the balls and turgid flesh that it could—

—and Sanzo gently tugged a whining and slavering Goku away as soon as he felt the first trickles of his come, and made him pool his ruined shirt under his arms.

“Bite it,” Sanzo hissed as he held out Goku’s rumpled shirt to his mouth, and he bit it without hesitation—and Sanzo pushed him on the bed, his pale hand draping across a heaving chest.

Goku had the melted look of confusion mixed with obedience and sheer excitement, and Sanzo, upon branding Goku’s expression in his mind’s eye, didn’t dare conceal his grin as he grabbed at the bronzed ankles and pushed them back to Goku as far as he could—

—glimmering, purple eyes slid to that inviting hole, its quivering pinkness almost too much to see—

—and Sanzo slowly entered him with a breathless grunt, and looked intently at Goku’s gagged form—

—golden eyes dimming and glazing with pleasure, the tanned cheeks blooming with a flush of red, lips glistening with drips of smeared white, teeth baring with a carnal need—

“ _Fuck_.”

Throwing inhibitions to the wind, the pad of his thumb coaxed Goku into releasing his hold on his shirt, and Sanzo showered him with ravenous kisses that sent those orbs of molten gold close and rolling behind shut eyelids.

They swallowed their sounds of trickling pleasure, heated breaths fanning on their equally heated skin, their faces and necks flushed with each thrust and pull and push—

—and ardent hands roved and entwined on disheveled locks, shifting between gentle caresses and violent yanks, both seeking dominance with every meeting of fervent thrust and colliding of greedy kisses—

Dribble seeped from Goku’s mouth as Sanzo sucked on his tongue, its squelching sounds sending a frenzy of heady intoxication to his muddied brain and tendrils of delectable spice to his palate that no amount of food could satisfy—

Goku threw his head back as Sanzo’s hips snapped over and over to his reddening thighs, each heave to his greedy hole sending him deeper and deeper into a spiraling wave of euphoric need—craving more of that engorged length—

Sanzo fisted the sheets in his hands with each thrust, and claimed Goku’s neck, gnawing and sucking on the thrumming pulse. A breathless laugh left his lips when a sudden and deep thrust made Goku’s back arch and groan and dig nails onto his back beaded with sweat. Hissing on each of the brunet’s ears, he whispered barely uttered words dripping with filth and lechery—and toyed with the cartilage in between his teeth, and Goku’s tongue slackened to his chin, watering eyes tightly shut and kiss-swollen mouth panting at his lust-laden words, and Sanzo engulfed the pliant organ in his mouth.

The softness and harshness of their kissing, coupled with their thighs and groins grinding with hurried slapping of their ardent flesh, rebounded on the walls and bathed their already heightened senses to a new peak of bliss—and Sanzo grabbed and held Goku’s hands overhead as his thrusts grew more fervent, making the brunet thrash and mewl and scream in ecstasy.

Goku raised and gyrated his hips, alternating between steadying and moving them in time with the feverish thrusts as Sanzo held an arm under his waist and impaled him with potent lunge after lunge, fueling waves of liquid fire brewing on their insides—

Sweat trickled down the blond’s exposed chest, and Goku licked his lips as Sanzo’s face twisted in a snarl and growled, animalistic, and pulled out and slammed back in with succession—and Goku breathed a low laugh and licked his upper teeth as his head snapped back, drawn out moans dripping low in a languid tenor.

He felt his blood and insides singing and wanting to release—

“ _Goku_.”

The brunet, still casting his arms overhead, lazily tilted his head to the pale man—

—and Sanzo gave him the smallest hint of a lopsided grin. He bent over to him, kissing the shell of his ear once, and whispered—

“ _Come_.”

Goku’s mouth parted and he came with a choked sob at the breathless command, splattering his inked stomach with ropes and speckles of white, liquid heat—and he kept his back arched as his insides tightened around Sanzo’s cock, feeling molten warmth flowing inside him. And Sanzo gasped and muttered a growl as he shuddered his release inside Goku, and he fell to a quivering mess on top of him.

Goku draped his still trembling arms around Sanzo’s back in an embrace, welcoming his weight on his sated form, sighing with a lazy smile. His eyes slowly drooped to a close, and before he fell into unconsciousness, he mumbled into Sanzo’s ear with a kiss—

“Let’s do this again next time. Maybe you’ll actually cut back on smoking if we do this regularly.”

Sanzo grunted, and kissed his cheek as a reply, both drifting to a blissful sleep.

* * *

Goku awakened to a warm bed, and a comforting duvet covered his sated form. Sighing, he clutched a pillow to his chest, muttering Sanzo’s name. The clock on the bedside showed 7:40pm, and he tried drifting back to sleep while listening to the muted sounds of kitchenware and of feet shuffling around the floor. He buried a smile to the pillow, recalling the earlier events in his head.

At one point, Goku was sure it was a dream, but the dull and welcomed ache on his backside told another story—and he licked his lips, and promptly sat up with a wide grin, ignoring, for once, his grumbling stomach.

He looked down at himself and noted his clean and spunk-free stomach, and muttered a silent ‘oh’ as he noticed his hips and shoulders and clavicles were littered with flushed marks ranging from small to mouth-sized that he knew he didn’t have during the time that Sanzo had taken him.

He looked at the open doorway, then to the bathroom connecting to Sanzo’s bedroom, and he carefully made his way there, highly aware of the mess inside him, and he clenched his butt cheeks throughout, and faced himself on the mirror.

His mussed up hair, wide, clear eyes, and flushed skin greeted him, along with the little marks trailing down his neck, ears, and chest. He opened up his torn and rumpled shirt more and stepped backward until he could see all of himself—butt still clenched—and gasped upon seeing the extent of hickeys that Sanzo left on his skin. The matching set of marks on his hips made him bite his lip, and he grinned at the amount that littered around his tattoo.

Turning sideways, he saw the marks Sanzo left on the underside of his buttocks, and noticed more at the back of his thighs that he knew weren’t there earlier.

Goku reached his hand to his hole, and stared at the mirror in fascination at the copious amount of come that ran to his fingers. Grinning to himself, he licked each of his digits clean, and closed his eyes at the drops that escaped to his wrists. He repeated it with the other hand, and sighed as he imagined his fingers were Sanzo’s turgid cock, twitching and dripping against his tongue.

He savored the remnants of Sanzo’s come on his lips, and he stopped when he felt himself going hard—

Muttering to himself, he licked his lips one last time before brushing his teeth—with a spare toothbrush that Sanzo had begrudgingly provided when he became a constant in his flat—and stepped in the shower, letting warm water bathe his skin.

He exited the bathroom in a few minutes, a pleased smile stuck on his face as he inhaled the remnants of the lemon-scented soap that clung to his skin. He giggled as he streaked to Sanzo’s wardrobe and rummaged around. He took out one of the man’s rarely used shirts and flung it over his head, and blinked at his suddenly exposed shoulders and barely covered upper thighs.

“Why are his shirts so big...? Oh right—I’m small,” he muttered with a pout. He looked around and noticed that the disarrayed clothes were now folded at the bottom of the bed. Even the buttons that flew from his shirt were seated on top of it—

The buzzer rang throughout the flat, and Goku paused, and noted the bedside clock was just minutes before eight. Hardly anyone other than him or Hakkai or Kanzeon ever visited Sanzo’s flat. Gojyo was practically banned from Sanzo’s flat for frying an egg and accidentally setting the kitchen’s fire alarm that one time—

The buzzer rang again, and the muffled sounds from the kitchen stopped.

He heard the faint and telltale clacking of Sanzo’s Model 36—

—and Goku leapt to the bedside and snatched his Curve .380, loaded the magazine, pulled and released the slide, and sprinted his way out of the room just in time to hear the front door swinging open and two shots firing in the air—

“Sanzo!”

He leapt to the hallway and immediately aimed the gun at the figure kowtowing at Sanzo’s feet—

“You’re all right!” the brunet exclaimed, and narrowed his eyes at his target.

“Ah,” Sanzo muttered, sparing Goku a glance, and turned his eyes and gun to a figure that Goku couldn’t see.

“Who is—”

“Goku, don’t you dare fucking move and get back to my room.”

“But—!”

“Now!”

Goku gaped, and huffed as he stomped near the door, ignoring Sanzo’s sidelong glare, and aimed his gun at the door and fired it once, and saw a shadow flinching back.

“Hey, Goku. That’s not your fucking door to destroy.”

“That’s my fucking target to destroy if it’s going to ruin my great day. And don’t make me return to your room.”

“Put your goddamn pants on first, idiot.”

“No. Not until I blow their brains off.”

“You fucking idiot—!”

The shadow by the door moved, and Sanzo growled and stepped back and moved in front of Goku, the bowing man by the door forgotten as he kept his aim at the shadow—

Goku lowered his gun on instinct, a scoff slipping past his agape mouth as he heard deliberate footsteps by the door. The brunet craned his neck to see who it was, but Sanzo’s arm reached around Goku’s waist, keeping him there.

Groaning in frustration, Goku stomped his bare feet and glared at Sanzo’s back. “Sanzo, why are you—”

“Not now.”

Sanzo fired his gun once more, and the figure laughed, the voice familiar to Goku’s ears.

“Now, now, Konzen. Don’t blow holes on your door.”

“Fuck you, odd eyes. Get yourself and that thing away from my flat and never come back.”

“...You do know I work and live here, right?”

“Yeah. And I’m your boss, and when I say get out, I mean get the fuck out of my fucking flat and return to your floor.”

Goku peered over just the slightest to confirm himself that it was, in fact, Homura, who stood by the door with the still bowed and unmoving man on the floor. He heard Sanzo rumble a groan through his back, and Goku held back a squeak and slid behind the blond.

He was now aware why Sanzo refused to let him move.

Homura nudged his foot to the bowing man’s back, “I just did you a favor of catching this ‘thing’ loitering by our premises, all covered in gunk and blood. So I beat him up some more when he tried to enter the building while waving an SNS about and calling out for you—”

“And you dared to carry it and drag it around this building, bringing it to _my_ place, at a fucking _Friday_ , and expect me to give you a friendly greeting?” He fired his gun again, and Homura tilted his head right, smiling at the missed shot.

“I don’t expect friendly greetings from you, anyway,” Homura shrugged, and craned his neck to look over behind Sanzo. “Is that Son Goku you’re hiding?”

Sanzo gnashed his teeth and emptied the gun’s cylinder. “Don’t. You. Dare.”

Homura leaned back and held up his palms in surrender, mockery dripping from his amused tone. “All right. I’ll just wait here while you two finish what you’ve started.”

Goku remained unmoving behind a still rumpled Sanzo, all former bravery now forgotten as he stared down at his hickey-riddled skin and barely covered lower half, and he hid his face upon being discovered in his current state.

Sanzo waved his empty gun at Homura’s face, “You. Get out for a moment. And keep that shit on the floor.”

Homura shrugged, smiling knowingly as he stepped back and bowed in mock respect, and closed the damaged door with a chuckle.

As soon as it closed, Sanzo whipped around and hauled a yelping Goku over his shoulder, and marched back to his room—both of them dressing as decently as they could in their post-coital state, muttering and swearing all the while about the men that barged in.

“Just when you’d think everything would go well tonight, but _nooo_ —”

“Shitty subordinates and their shitty fuckery of clusterfucks. Can’t even get a sliver of peace in a fucking day without shit happening every fucking hour—”

When they were done and have exited the room with glowers and growls, Goku followed the muttering and cursing blond to the door. A dress shirt and jeans-clad Sanzo slammed the door open and gritted his teeth at the still smiling Homura.

“Who the fuck is that thing?” he snapped, nostrils flaring at the still kowtowing man. Sanzo paused his cursing, though, when said thing looked up at him with a bloodied face and sniveling nose.

The tanned and haughty blond who had yelled at a teller weeks ago now kowtowed to his feet.

Zakuro grabbed at Sanzo’s slippered feet, and groveled with a bawl.

“Genjo Sanzo! I, the great Zakuro, am beseeching you and have come to you for aid!”

Sanzo’s brows furrowed and glared at Homura, who shrugged. Goku growled at the man who ruined his otherwise perfect night—and instinctively pulled out his gun and aimed it at Zakuro’s head in case he’d harm Sanzo.

Three pairs of eyes fell to the groveling man at Sanzo’s feet.

“I—I wish to take back my life, and bring Houtou to ashes!”


	7. Chapter 7

Goku had dressed in a black turtleneck that was a wee bit bigger than his frame—it was Sanzo’s—and had put on his jeans, and tried his best to glare at a smug-looking Homura from where he sat with his legs parted wide and his fists pressed close to his groin, squirming with quivering hands every now and then.

The sick bastard was just waiting for an opportunity to drop the bomb, Goku could feel it. By his feet curled a silent Tama, scrutinizing the guests with her slitted, amber eyes—as though the cat knew Homura’s mischievous little discovery.

Sanzo, however, paid Homura—who stood smirking behind Zakuro—no heed, and chose to glare at where a bruised and injured Zakuro sat in front of him, and beside him, a curious Hakkai treated the man’s cuts. Beside the doctor sat Gojyo, munching away chips that he emitted in speckles with each second he looked and guffawed at Zakuro’s swollen face once he knew it was Homura’s work.

“You,” Sanzo pointed to Homura, “you know that that derringer is shit. It only has two fucking rounds, for crying out loud. You should’ve just took it from him and let him roam. There was no need to bring him here.”

“Pardon, President,” interrupted Homura, his expression now void of smugness, his tone was now business-like, curt and formal, and his hands sat behind his back as he spoke. “Even though what he had is a mere TA-38—looks like a toy gun at first glance—you’ll never know if a bullet might accidentally shoot you. It’s better to be cautious of such a thing. A bullet could travel miles, I’m sure you’re aware of that.”

Sanzo huffed. Homura would decide to call Sanzo by his title only during the times when Sanzo was on the verge of being assaulted.

Goku observed the empty and now dismantled gun on the coffee table. “Why go all the way here? You clearly aren’t dead like what the news said. You were supposed to be like, the gazillionth Houtou victim. Shouldn’t you be there instead of here?” He looked at Zakuro with suspicion, noting the puffy eyes and the red nose. Earlier, Goku had called Gojyo in for backup on stripping Zakuro down for any concealed weapons, and when they had found none other than the small derringer, Goku had called Hakkai in for treating the man. Homura, all the while, had sat from the sidelines, watching everything with an amused gaze.

They have been inquiring Zakuro for the past hour, and the tanned blond, through gritted teeth and clenched fists, had spilled and told them everything, including the events that circulated around Houtou for so long.

Homura and Sanzo were not surprised by Zakuro’s tale. Goku, however, was baffled, and could only gape his mouth at the anomaly of it all. He had heard rumors about the employee killings, but to hear it firsthand from one of Houtou’s employees sent a shiver down Goku’s spine. He’d rather die a painful death than kill Sanzo for a rank that he never wanted.

“Goku, Gojyo, did the hag ever tell you why you had to work here?” Sanzo asked, raising one eyebrow at the wide-eyed brunet and the blinking redhead. Goku slowly shook his head, frowning. Gojyo shrugged.

“I met the qualifications to be some CEO’s bodyguard. The pay’s high, so I accepted. Didn’t think of the consequences. Who needs terms and conditions?” Gojyo laughed through a mouthful of chips.

“I followed her order because she says I got to be with ya and protect ya, Sanzo. ’ts all that matters,” he chirped with a grin, pushing away thoughts of death from his mind. And Sanzo huffed, fighting back a ghost of a smirk.

“She knows everything that involves Kinzan. This whole company was built as a publishing house as a pretense. Its real job is to stop Houtou from reeling in all the people in the area from being mindless puppets that reveled in violence through their works. It’s why Kinzan had started with religious works.”

“Like a filibuster, you mean?” Goku blinked.

Sanzo glared at the silent Zakuro, “A filibuster—you could say that. Our real job is to keep the people from becoming Houtou’s victims, countering Houtou’s works with Kinzan’s. But then over time, Houtou hauled far too many readers and writers that were too willing to contribute to its violent creations. And when their usual formula of stories started to look dull and repetitive to the readers, they changed their methods of writing and acquiring info for their material.”

Homura smiled, looking at Sanzo with a morbid fascination through eyes of blue and gold. “That’s when the bizarre killings in the books slowly became real, until the unknown killings attracted attention from the media, but no Houtou employee or an avid Houtou reader would dare spill the beans, because the employees knew they will die, and the readers who might tattle to authorities might be targeted for the next material. Ms. Kanzeon knew that she needed Konzen’s—sorry, I mean, the _president’s_ —eccentric mindset to be on par with Houtou. It was one of the reasons she gave him her position.”

“And so Sanzo opened up new genres, right?” Hakkai said with a delightful laugh. “I very much like the Medical line you put up recently,” he looked at Sanzo with pleased smiles, “I’ve been buying them and been waiting for new issues since it first came out a year ago. The Herbology line also intrigued me. And the most fascinating one I’ve seen is the Medieval line, where people from the early tenth to fourteenth centuries have been using the strangest remedies for some ailments of the human body. Did you know that people had once used hot irons to shove up people’s anuses to cure them from hemorrhoids? And that the Elizabethans ate mice to cure smallpox—”

“A’ight, a’ight, Hakkai. We get your point. Please stop, I’m eating here,” Gojyo winced, and raised a finger to Hakkai’s lips. Hakkai looked at the redhead with faux hurt at being stopped. “Anyway,” Gojyo mumbled, “I didn’t know half of that shit Homura just said. I don’t care, as long as I get to do my job of protecting that Buddhist bum’s ass and get my pay, I don’t care what history is between Kinzan and Houtou. Like, now what? So, are we gonna kill this guy?” He jerked his thumb to Zakuro.

“Nah, we need to know every detail he has about Houtou.” Sanzo tapped his finger on his now empty beer can, gauging Zakuro’s every reaction, “You told us you know nothing of Kami. How can we be sure you’re not hiding him from us?”

Zakuro made a sound that was a cross between a scoff and a grunt, and he bared his teeth at the pale blond, “Genjo Sanzo. Even I have been trying to find out who he is for a long time. How he got to Godworks, I don’t know. Besides, he _shot_ me. He wants me _dead_. I wouldn’t be coming to your feet, begging for mercy if the situation weren’t fatal.”

Gojyo shrugged, waving a dismissive hand to Zakuro, “The guy’s right, you know. We all saw how his haughtiness rivals that of our His Not-Holiness’s.”

“Feh, what are you implying, shithead,” Sanzo scowled. “Moreover, Zakuro, you told me no one can leave Houtou.” Sanzo darted his eyes to Gojyo, and knew fully well that his older brother, Jien, had resorted to escape from Houtou with broken limbs. Jien had apparently willingly chose death than to kill his then fellow workers. Hakkai had saved Jien’s life, and Gojyo had since then owed the doctor for everything.

Gojyo averted Sanzo’s gaze with clenched jaws.

Zakuro didn’t need to know that.

“Have you seen your president’s face?” Sanzo inquired instead.

Zakuro froze, his eyes darting about, and his jaw clenched as he thought of an acceptable answer. “Why do you ask?”

“Because I need it. I need to know who I’m dealing with,” Sanzo’s eyes narrowed, his brows furrowed, and his upper lips curled into a snarl. “I already have a hunch, I just need confirmation.” He took out a picture from his wallet, the one with Kami, and a black-haired man with his back facing the camera. He placed it in front of the unresponsive Zakuro.

“Do you know who Kami is talking to in this photo?” Sanzo inquired the silent man, and when Zakuro didn’t reply immediately, the sound of Homura’s Dragon Fury knife unsheathed from his pocket, its titanium and scale-patterned blade glinting and kissing against the skin of Zakuro’s throat.

“Answer him,” Homura hissed.

“I’m thinking! I can’t think if there’s a knife on me!”

Sanzo stared pointedly at the black-haired man, and ordered Homura to stop badgering Zakuro. And when Homura merely removed the knife from the throat and moved it to the forehead, Sanzo sighed, and muttered about shitty subordinates. He glanced at the quietly giggling brunet beside him. “Goku.”

Goku tried and failed to stifle his wide grin as he covered his mouth from Sanzo, “Got it.” He then looked at Homura with a suddenly passive face, “Homura. Lower your weapon.”

Homura regarded Goku with a raised eyebrow, sighed, and folded his knife with a smile, “As you say, Son Goku.”

“Hey, ’Kai, why did the prince follow the monkey instead of the boss?” Gojyo suddenly asked, red eyes darting between Sanzo and Goku and Homura, while Hakkai clamped his lips shut to stifle a burst of laughs—

Sanzo cleared his throat, “Zakuro. Your answer.”

Zakuro hissed in annoyance, and gave Homura a sidelong glance. “There are many men with black hair in Houtou. How should I know who that is?”

The click of Sanzo’s gun was heard, and Zakuro raised his hands up immediately. “I swear I don’t know!”

“You lie,” came Sanzo and Goku’s low chorus.

“I am not!”

Goku clenched his fists on his lap and stomped his foot, teeth gritting out in both dull pain and impatience, unconsciously surprising the cat by his leg. “Yer not lookin’ ’ere! Tell ’im th’ truth s’you can go home!”

Gojyo warily looked at the fuming teen that was now muttering apologies to the offended cat, then craned his neck to where Zakuro sat. It was when Goku slipped to a different and almost incomprehensible accent altogether that Gojyo knew the brunet was serious. Hakkai, too, sensed the change in the usually cheerful boy. Gojyo stretched his arm behind Hakkai, and tapped Zakuro on the shoulder. “Yo, answer His Highness. His little pet looks like he’s going to blow a fuse any second. You can deal with him hungry, but not angry. And you don’t want him angry—” He held up his palms, “Trust me.”

Zakuro lowered his head, and his lips moved, and Homura and Gojyo slapped the tanned blond on the back.

“Say it louder!” Gojyo and Goku—who now had a fussy Tama in his arms—yelled, and Zakuro slammed his finger on the photo, his chartreuse eyes burning in fury.

“It might be that sneaky, that godawful Ni Jien Yi, Kami’s god!”

There was silence, and Sanzo muttered the name in undertone, memorizing it, and then—“What do you think he’s handing out to this... Ni Jien Yi?”

Zakuro looked at Sanzo, bared his teeth, and muttered, “Most likely he’s handing him his report on the people he killed that week. It happens to Houtou, too. Godworks also has the policy of, ‘The more people killed, the higher your position will be.’ It’s a constant war zone where you could trust no one.”

“Is that so. So this Ni Jien Yi is in a higher position than Kami,” Sanzo drawled, and he glanced at his subordinates and Hakkai. As much as he openly expressed his distaste in dealing with people, Sanzo was not one to promote killing among his ranks. The thought of it alone was fucking despicable. “What about Kami wanting to extend his filthy hands to my firm? This whole shit started with him going here and declaring that Godworks wanted me to give them a hand ‘for the greater good’, whatever that is.”

“It’s most likely to spread its influence. Godworks recently bought Fortunes & Castles Publishing from Chin Yisou, son of that degenerate politician. I heard Houtou had his father killed after a negotiation gone wrong, and had Godworks kill the son for stepping out of line.” Zakuro was calmer now, and Goku silently noted that the tanned blond was finally cooperating.

“So I’ve heard,” Hakkai muttered. “I had Yisou as my patient. Took a fatal stab to the stomach and died within a few minutes—”

“Feh, the guy gave you a hard time for badgering you to sell your hospital to him for his ‘additional property’ shit. I say the damn prick deserves to die,” interrupted Gojyo with a huff.

Hakkai let out a forced laugh and a too wide smile, “Well, can’t say I’m not relieved, to be honest.”

“Hey, Zakuro, I just remembered,” Goku started, glancing at Sanzo and waiting for permission to continue. The purple-eyed man nodded, and Goku looked at Zakuro. “Kami once told me this: ‘Ravens will devour the night and we’ll get back what was stolen from us.’ Ring any bells?”

Zakuro looked around, muttering to himself in quiet thought, and then—“There’s only one person he’d refer to as a raven. It’s why Houtou and Godworks have ravens as their logos.” He looked at the photo, and hummed. “That black-haired man, now that I look at it closely, has to be the raven. Kami has never shown a smile like that to anyone. It’s Ni Jien Yi—Houtou’s shadow president. Kami thinks Kinzan stole Houtou’s rightful fame, and wants to take it back. No offense, Genjo Sanzo, but I, the great Zakuro, want to take it back, too—or should I say, _wanted_ to. We have kept a close eye on you for a long time because you were taking up all the space in the shelves alongside Keiun—and making you our target would mean a huge boost to our position. It was all business.”

“Did you know how Kami escaped from us? Do you Houtou people have a certain method to use? Because fuck, I still don’t know how he escaped from falling out of the window.” Gojyo asked out of the blue. The redhead had been trying to wrap his mind around Kami’s escape for a long time—

Zakuro furrowed his brows, eyes boring at Gojyo’s, and he shook his head, “None that I know of.”

Sanzo hummed. A question had been plaguing his mind for some time since he had talked with Kanzeon. It was pure chance that he had encountered Kami, and—

“Hey, Zakuro. That Ni Jien Yi—is that his real name?”

The tanned blond shrugged, “I mostly call him Chief. As for his name, I’m guessing it’s an alias. I never see a plaque of his face or nameplate of him anywhere. His PA sometimes calls him Ni Jien Yi if she’s irritated with him, otherwise, she simply calls him Dr. Ni. I assume that’s his actual name.”

“Last question,” Sanzo declared, his purple eyes glinting as he straightened his back on his seat. “Do you and the other employees meet up on the same place at the same time to see this Ni Jien Yi?”

* * *

The following weekend, Sanzo set up their mission to put Zakuro’s info to the test.

Squeezed in between Gojyo and Goku sat an uncharacteristically silent Zakuro. Beside Goku sat Sanzo, on the passenger seat sat Homura, and Hakkai was their designated driver. Hakkai’s Versa Hatchback parked a few feet away from the corner of the street where Gojyo and Goku had last seen Kami talking to a man in a black suit, a place that Zakuro had confirmed was Houtou employees’ ‘covert’ meeting place with the finished killings.

Sanzo blindly took fries from Goku’s makeshift paper bowl, his eyes not leaving the street corner through the tinted windows.

Homura turned to Hakkai and smiled. “I’m quite surprised Konzen allowed me to be a part of this group—”

“Fuck you, odd eyes. I told you not to call me that. You fucking invited yourself here—” Sanzo tore his gaze from the sidewalk and kicked the seat in front of him where Homura sat—with a socked foot, of course. He wouldn’t want to be scolded by Hakkai, of all people—

“Sanzo,” Hakkai chided gently, looked at the pale blond through the rearview mirror. Sanzo huffed, silently tucking his foot back in his shoe. Hakkai smiled, “I am quite amazed why we didn’t just stay in your car, instead.”

“It attracts too much attention,” Sanzo muttered as he fixed his earpiece, fixing his gaze back to the sidewalk on the other side of the street. “Zakuro, do you know of a man named Koumyou?”

“No, why?”

“Oh. Just asking.”

Goku munched on the fries, and then—“Hey, Sanzo. Isn’t that your—ow! Gojyo! Why’d your throw a can of soda, you jerk!”

Goku stopped his oncoming rain of insults when Gojyo’s eyes bulged and shifted, darting from Zakuro to Sanzo. He faintly shook his head and twitched the corners of his lip, tapping it repeatedly with one finger. The teen caught on after more funny and vague gestures from the redhead, and Goku clamped his lips in a tightlipped smile.

“Right. Here’s your soda.” And Goku threw the soda can back to Gojyo, grinning back to his near empty paper bowl of fries.

Homura craned his neck to where Zakuro sat, and eyed him with the slightest hint of suspicion in his narrowed eyes, “You told me you know nothing of a woman named Rinrei, correct?” When Zakuro nodded, Homura frowned. “I’ll take your word for it—but if I catch wind about you hiding anything related to her, I’ll slaughter you with my own hands.” He turned his attention to the pavement, and mulled over Zakuro’s reply. If Zakuro—who had only been in Houtou for two years—knew nothing about the death of Homura’s fiancée, then there was a chance that other employees, much longer in Houtou’s service, knew at least something.

Kami, according to the records he got from Sanzo, had been under Godworks’s eye for six years. That man had to know something.

“He’s here,” Sanzo drawled, and all eyes fell on a white suit-clad Kami standing by a lamppost, with two envelopes in his hand.

“Now, Sanzo?” Gojyo asked, his hand already reaching for the door—and when Sanzo shook his head, Gojyo backed away. And when a bespectacled man in a black suit approached Kami from the side, Sanzo shook his head.

“Not yet.”

Gojyo grumbled, his palms itching to get a feel of punching someone again. It had been so long since he had gotten into a fight—

“Hey, Goku. You take my place here.” Gojyo slipped the earpiece around his nape, and patted Hakkai on the shoulder, “Take care, man.” When Hakkai nodded and patted Gojyo’s hand, the redhead exited the car and put on his helmet as Goku scooted over and slammed the door. Tapping on the window twice, Gojyo rode his Ducati, and waited for the signal.

Sanzo kept his eye on the man with glasses, and Zakuro pointed at the bespectacled man.

“That’s him. The shadow president.”

Sanzo hummed, and squinted, trying to get a good look at the man, “...Ni Jien Yi is Ukoku?” His purple eyes widened a fraction, noting Ukoku’s scruffy stubble, glib smile, condescending face, and unkempt, black hair. There was no doubt in his mind, that the man that Kami was talking to was Ukoku, Kami’s no-good stepfather. Sanzo pointed at Ukoku, “You don’t know that they’re a dysfunctional family?” He asked Zakuro, to which the tanned blond’s brows shot up in surprise.

“Wha—family, you say? What?!”

Sanzo merely nodded, his thoughts running in a blur at the revelation, and when he turned his attention back to the two men, Kami smiled and bowed to Ukoku.

Not once did Sanzo see that Ukoku opened his mouth to speak to Kami.

When Kami and Ukoku parted ways, Goku tapped the window to his side twice, alerting Gojyo to tail Kami as soon as the blond was out of the corner of the street. Hakkai waited for Gojyo’s Ducati to turn to a corner.

“Now,” Sanzo commanded, and Hakkai followed Ukoku with a decently slow speed on his car. Ukoku had his hands buried inside the pockets of his pressed slacks, idly walking down the crowded street, and when Ukoku turned around the corner, Gojyo’s voice rang through Sanzo’s earpiece.

“ _The punk’s riding a silver Peugeot Allure. The fuck do I do now?_ ”

“You’re catching up to him, right?” Sanzo muttered.

“ _Course I am._ ”

“Just follow him around and stuff. We’re tailing this Ukoku guy now at a turtle pace,” said Goku to his mouthpiece, muffling his voice with a burger that Hakkai made.

“ _Gotcha_.” And they heard the sound of Gojyo’s motorbike revving up.

“Any idea where Ukoku is heading?” Hakkai asked Sanzo, glancing at the blond through the rearview mirror. As soon as he said it, however, Ukoku stopped in his tracks, and Hakkai stopped his car at a corner, staying at a decent distance from the man. Ukoku looked around, his shoulders hunched, and entered a hotel. They waited, and opted not to spy inside the building with the huge, embossed sign of Houtou’s logo on the glass doors. Zakuro entering the hotel was not an option, for he was supposed to be dead. Goku was also out of the question—his face had already been seen in Godworks’s security during his short trip there. Sanzo was especially out of the question. Sanzo refused Homura to go in the building—which only left Hakkai to investigate, as he was neither Kinzan nor a Houtou employee.

After being given a covert microphone and earpiece, Hakkai went inside the hotel—and they waited. When Hakkai exited the building after half an hour, he returned to his car with all smiles—

“Okay. He’s about to leave with a woman.”

The hotel doors opened, and Ukoku, all unkempt and smug, exited the hotel, with a middle-aged, green-haired woman linking her arm to his.

The continuous shots of Goku’s camera went off as he took picture after picture of the pair walking down the street. “Who’s she?” he asked no one in particular, and Hakkai shrugged.

“The real owner of Houtou, Gyokumen,” Zakuro answered. “Feisty and sadistic woman, she is. Never takes no for an answer. I have never seen her son—stepson, that is—but I heard her nails are pretty much embedded deep into him and he can’t get away from her.”

“Have you directly spoken to her?” Homura asked, and he hummed in thought when he shook his head.

“I have never spoken to her. Very few people can speak to her directly, and if she doesn’t like you, she gets you disposed of, right in front of her.”

Goku made a disgusted face at the confession, and winced when he took a picture of Ukoku and Gyokumen kissing on the streets. “So, they like each other?”

“They use each other, more like,” Zakuro shifted in his seat, his eyes trailing at the pair’s retreating forms. “Ni controls Houtou with his intelligence, and Gyokumen uses that intelligence to broaden her connections. Convenient, if you ask me. Now that they had taken my property after I ‘died’, they’ll find another employee to harass and kill.”

Ukoku and Gyokumen disappeared around the corner of the next street—and Sanzo, deciding that they got all the info they needed for today, called Gojyo.

“Where are you? We got all the shit today.”

“ _He returned to Godworks, man. Should I return? He’s not killing anyone for the moment._ ”

“Yeah, return for now. I’m thinking of a plan.”

* * *

Zakuro had been placed under Gojyo’s flat until the mayhem in Houtou subsided. Goku, with Yaone’s help, continued accommodating to new clients in Kinzan. Sanzo and Homura, for the meantime, bickered over Sanzo’s plan to get a list of the past victims of Houtou and Godworks, and present a case to the court.

“Konzen, I still have connections even though I am not in service anymore—”

“And have you involve the entire fucking military over this? Fuck no. I know how you work.”

“Fine. A private investigation could be done, at least. Let me do it so I could strangle his neck—”

“Don’t be blinded by your fucking revenge plot.”

“I am certainly _not_ blinded by my revenge plot.”

Sanzo mulled over the possibilities of involving certain authorities to the case. He was now dealing with the discovery of massive killings, with the motive to get its hands full of properties from employees left and right—that had been Houtou’s modus since the beginning, but no one dared to tackle the case, in fear of getting caught up in Houtou’s web.

“Homura, you’re dismissed.”

“What? No. Listen, Konzen—”

“We don’t have a case to present if we don’t have decisive evidence—”

“And that’s why I told you I will do it and get the decisive evidence. I get it, give you the files, I’ll talk to my colleagues, we’ll present the case—”

The sound of knocking interrupted the two, and in came a lanky, fidgety man with long, black hair tied in a low braid behind his back. In his arms were three, thick folders that he struggled in his hands as he closed the door behind him.

“The manuscripts I edited are here, sir,” he said in a meek voice, his head bowed throughout as he held out the folders with shaky arms.

Homura, irritated at being interrupted, turned around and raised an eyebrow. “You expect the president to come to you?”

The bespectacled man flinched, and his face paled as he looked at a frowning Sanzo reclining on his office chair, one hand tucked under his chin.

He had always regarded the president as a cold beauty—with his pale skin, striking blond hair, piercing, violet eyes, the ever-present scowl, the constant spew of filthy words from his deep and gruff voice, the haughty air that surrounded the man—

—he couldn’t help but be captivated by the CEO’s aura.

Homura snapped his fingers twice, “Hello?”

The lanky man snapped out of his reverie and muttered apologies, and only made a step when the door slammed open to reveal a smiling Goku carrying five stacks of folders, accidentally pushing the man to the floor—

“Sanzo! Here’s the work Jien and I did—oh. Oh!” Goku scrambled to Sanzo’s desk and placed the folders in a neat pile and fussed over the man fumbling with the fallen manuscripts littered about. “I’m so sorry, I’m _so_ sorry—!”

The man mustered a shaky smile to the teen, his thin and sallow face showing meekness and nervousness as his hands scrambled to get all of the papers into the folders before Goku could.

“Lemme help,” Goku offered, taking the folders away from the man’s hands before he could say anything else. He scanned over the pages as he numerically arranged them, and smiled thoughtfully, “From the Buddhist Fiction department, yes? Hi, I’m Son Goku!” Gold eyes looked at the man’s taupe gray ones, and his smile widened when the man feebly nodded and stammered his name.

“Go Dougan, I am.”

“Haha—! Why so formal?”

“Goku, get it over here,” came Sanzo’s irritated drawl, and the brunet’s smile froze and he shuffled to his feet, rearranging the rest of the manuscripts on the desk, leaving Dougan to stand awkwardly by the door. “How many times do I have to tell you to knock before you enter, stupid monkey?”

Goku stuck out his tongue and merely laughed, and burrowed his nose back to the disarrayed papers. Homura chuckled and glanced at the fumbling Dougan, then back to Sanzo.

“So, about my proposal—”

“Homura, just stop it. I am not going to risk anyone’s ass for some documents.”

“But it was your idea in the first place,” Homura shrugged with a lopsided smile. “Besides, those ‘some documents’ are vital, yes? It would save you a lot of trouble if we get our hands on it.”

“Ah! Homura’s right. If you want, I could go, too,” cheered Goku as he tapped the edges of the papers in his hands, to which Sanzo glared at the brunet as a response.

“Hell to the fuck no. I’m not leaving you in some punk’s questionable care.”

Homura snorted a laugh, his shoulders shaking with mirth at Sanzo’s words, “Me? Questionable? How rude, Konzen. Have you forgotten when I saw you two—”

“Shut it. Don’t speak about it,” came Goku and Sanzo’s clipped response in unison, and Homura blinked in stunned silence, and stifled a laugh in between his teeth a few moments later.

“Even your sentences slide into the same tone! You two amuse me.”

Dougan meekly raised his hand, his voice low and trembling. “Um, if I may, President—I could help you with your task.”

Homura and Goku snapped their heads to the jittery Dougan, their expressions now void of any prior cheer. Sanzo blinked at the sudden declaration.

“Do you even know what we’re talking about?” Sanzo huffed, annoyance seeping in his tone.

Dougan’s shoulders stiffened, his eyes wide at the sudden retort. He didn’t expect for the president to directly address him—! “Um, you—you want to get documents, sir? My job as an acquisitions editor may come in handy now.”

Homura tried and failed to stifle a snort, and covered it with a fake cough a moment too late. Leaning one hand on Sanzo’s desk, he noted the way Dougan stood too stiffly by the door. He bit back another laugh, “No offense, but I’m the managing editor, Son Goku here is a copyeditor, and the president still don’t want us to do it. Are you sure you’re up to the task?”

Sanzo growled, glaring at Homura’s back with a snarl, “Hey, what are you doing.”

Homura let out a low chortle, and went over beside Sanzo. He beckoned Goku over with his hand, and when Goku did so, Homura spoke lowly to Sanzo and Goku, all their eyes trained on the unsuspecting Dougan.

“ _What if we make him do it? He doesn’t stand out as much. He’s one of the few people that don’t live in this building. No notable skills whatsoever—he could blend in easily with Houtou’s crowd. He’s perfect for the role._ ”

“ _Ah, but what about his position? We can’t just chuck him there and leave his department without an editor—_ ” Goku whispered harshly, arms gesturing about. “ _Think of how his department will be if he’ll be there. Homura, we’ll be in trouble—_ ”

“ _Goku’s right. If word leaks out that someone from here spies on there, shit will happen._ ”

Homura idly tapped his fingers on the desk, tutting at the two, “ _They won’t know, because he’s one of the generals. And generals never stand out amongst the gentry, especially with our actual line of work._ ”

Sanzo scrutinized Homura’s expression—his brows raised and the corners of his mouth sliding upwards, as though he had won the challenge in a landslide. The blond sighed, glancing and waiting for a further comment from Goku, and the brunet shrugged at both of them, and gave Dougan a sidelong glimpse before huddling back to Sanzo.

“ _Doesn’t look like we have a choice, does it? Gojyo obviously can’t go there. He’ll screw everything up with that foul mouth of his the moment he enters the building._ ”

Homura muffled a laugh behind his hand at Goku’s words. All the while, Dougan tried to listen in, and failing in return. The hushed talk between the three men had him curious. The task at hand seemed to be a serious matter. Dougan had once been Sanzo’s assistant for two days before Sanzo decided to transfer him to the Buddhist Fiction department five floors below.

On those two, short days, however, he had developed a pining for the young CEO. Cold and cynical his boss might be, but he knew, and had yet to see, that there was a genuine kindness buried underneath all the walls that the president had built around himself.

Rumor had it that those small glimpses of kindness were only known to the few who knew him well—among those were the people on this very floor where his office was. But the most who knew his innermost workings and tiniest hints of affection in public was none other than the young brunet who had taken Dougan’s place. He had expected that the youngest person that the president had for an assistant wouldn’t last an hour on the first day, but he was proven wrong when he had found out that the young man lasted for almost nine months now, and the stories he heard about how the brunet often had open squabbles with the president without getting kicked out of Kinzan made Dougan skeptical.

He wouldn’t believe the rumors until he would see it with his own eyes.

Dougan observed the close proximity of the three, with Homura to the president’s left, and Goku on the other side, and he noted how Homura somehow resembled the president in terms of appearance, and how Goku appeared to be wiry underneath all the pressed suit and slacks of burgundy—

Sanzo’s lips curled into a grin as he beckoned Goku over, splaying pale fingers on the wild, brown hair, and he whispered something to his ear—and the brunet bit his lower lip, stifling small giggles. Homura, seemingly having caught onto Sanzo’s words, smiled broadly, and muttered something to the two. The glimmer of Sanzo’s teeth peeked from the small ghost of a simper from his smooth lips, while Goku’s cheeks bubbled in mirth.

Dougan looked away.

It was the first time that he saw the usually ill-tempered president crack an expression other than the typical frown and grimace—and it was a grin, no less—!

Dougan wondered, who was this Son Goku who managed to capture the evasive president’s undivided attention?

“Right, so we decided,” Sanzo interrupted Dougan’s thoughts with a stoic façade. Goku and Homura had now given Sanzo space. The president’s purple eyes bore straight through Dougan, and the latter suppressed a shiver that ran down his spine as Sanzo spoke, “You’ll take on the task I will give you. This mission is yours alone. No slip-ups. I’ll tell you the details later. For now, you’re at ease.”

The words rang and pierced Dougan’s core, and he felt a rush of elation at hearing Sanzo directly giving _him_ a very vital task.

Not Homura, one of the greatest editors in Kinzan.

Not Goku, the president’s most trusted person.

But _him_ —Go Dougan, one of the mere editors from the Buddhist Fiction department, who was too lanky and too plain and lacked any notable presence in any room—!

Dougan’s face lit up and beamed at his president, his ashen eyes sparkling beneath his round spectacles—

“Don’t worry, President Genjo. I will make you proud!”

Sanzo hummed, his face slipping back to its neutral disinterest, and nodded, “All right, then. You’re dismissed.”

Dougan nodded enthusiastically, all prior meekness now gone as his smile widened at the blond, and he bowed and turned away.

“Ah, Sanzo. I could help him a bit, you know. Tell him the necessary things and all that,” Goku stated with his face inching to the blond’s—a gesture that Dougan caught from the corner of his eye.

Dougan really hoped the president would say no. He was tasked to do it alone—!

“Sure,” Sanzo shrugged, unfazed at the closeness of Goku’s face to his, “I don’t see the harm in it.”

The face of the taupe-eyed man changed to that of concealed disdain in a flash, and it was gone when Goku flailed his arms in joy and bade the blond his thanks and went over to a still frozen Dougan. Goku remained oblivious to it all as he chatted away, and only when Dougan was directly addressed did he finally mutter a response, and his meekness returned as they exited the president’s office.

“I can keep an eye on him, if you want,” Homura idly commented as he straightened his back, his gaze intently following Goku’s movements.

“‘Him’ meaning who?”

“Go Dougan, of course,” Homura smirked, biting back a witty comment at Sanzo’s implication. “You don’t know him well, do you?”

“I know him a bit. He was my last assistant until Goku took over.”

Homura casted Sanzo’s sullen countenance with mild interest, “Oh? He was the ninth?”

Sanzo shrugged, sighed, and leaned back on his chair, completely ignoring Homura’s inquisitive stare. “I think. I lost count.” He heard Homura hum, and the blond scoffed, “Don’t even voice out your opinion, I know what you’re thinking.”

“Oh dear. Should I use Occlumency now?”

“Feh. Fuck you and your references.”

Homura laughed, and both of them silently peered at Goku’s lively form through the glass panes—

—and both noted the sudden stiffness of Dougan’s expressions, all tightlipped in his smiles and automatic in his nods. And when Goku went away to return to his cubicle, Homura and Sanzo noticed Dougan’s face scrunching in anger for a split second—the man’s eyes narrowing and his jaw visibly clenching as he trailed after Goku’s retreating back.

The two men frowned—and blue and gold eyes met violet ones in silence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unexpected character popping up is unexpected. But, whew. Also, the HP reference was accidental.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some parts of this chapter may be a trigger to some (violence ahead). Proceed with caution. (Well, at least I think it’s a kind of trigger. Um.) –returns in hiding–

Goku had been too happy to aid Dougan with the workload lately, a fact that the people on his floor noticed. At one point, Jien had commented about Goku’s recent closeness with the Buddhist fiction editor, telling him that they were close to being joined at the hip. It was something that Goku brushed off with a laugh one morning, and had entered Sanzo’s office to bring him his third cup of coffee for the day. Sanzo, too, had noticed the slight change, but made no comment of it.

As long as his assistant did his job, all was good.

Besides, the feisty little imp had been making up to Sanzo for their lost time together—often in the form of giving the blond stolen kisses and light, lingering touches in the office when they knew that no one was looking in the viewpoint of the president’s office. Goku had been doing a great job of making his employer cut back on smoking, as he had promised. At some point, he had nights when he could convince the haughty blond to submit and be tied up and blindfolded, and have Goku’s way with Sanzo. The brunet needed more time to charge on those days, sure, but he once told Sanzo it was worth it if it meant that Sanzo’s usual fits of anger lessened as days passed by.

He was doing the whole world a huge favor by willingly offering himself to Genjo Sanzo.

Plus, seeing his egoistic and foulmouthed employer sweating and panting and drooling while being bound and naked was a big bonus to Goku that no amount of money in the world could ever suffice.

Today, Goku stole a kiss from Sanzo’s neck, a gesture reciprocated with a seemingly dismissive huff and a peck to a slightly cold ear. “How’s the plan going?” Sanzo asked through sips of coffee. “Tell me you weren’t spewing unnecessary things to that guy. I’m having enough doubts with him as it is.”

Goku poured himself a glass of water, and took big gulps of it, “He’s been doing good. Though I think he’s really just shy.”

“Hn. Don’t let it fool you, though. I have my suspicions.”

“Care to tell me those suspicions?”

Sanzo took a sip of his coffee, eyes narrowing at the recollection of seeing Dougan looking furious at the day he met Goku, then on the following days when the brunet was with Dougan. The bespectacled man would always look at Goku like a nuisance whenever his assistant would look away while chatting animatedly—why? Sanzo had yet to know. It couldn’t be because Goku was too loud and too jovial with anything. People _liked_ Goku. That was a given. He always brought a smile to anyone he met. So why the need for Dougan to be angry at the little thing? Sanzo just couldn’t get it.

Besides, even if he told his doubts to Goku, it would only end in an ugly fight. Sanzo knew of Goku’s nature in seeing the good in everyone. Sanzo was the opposite.

He couldn’t risk fighting with his monkey over something so _trivial_. And so Sanzo kept his doubts to himself.

“I will in due time. Probably.”

Goku pouted, one that Sanzo ignored with a pinky in his ear. “I don’t get it. Dougan seems like a nice guy. Why dislike him?” He inched closer to the blond’s face, and violet eyes averted amber ones.

“I have my reasons.”

“You could tell me, you know.”

He glanced at his assistant, and inwardly cursed at the sight of that too curious and too pure of an expression. Making a face like that should be illegal.

“Stop making that face,” Sanzo muttered with a reprimanding tut.

Goku tilted his head in confusion, the end of his thick brows meeting together in upward curls. “What face?” Really, the teen didn’t know what face he made sometimes—

Sanzo clicked his tongue and set down his coffee. He slid his thumb and index under Goku’s chin, and directed their eyes to meet.

“That. That face you’re making right now.” He waited for the brunet to reply, and heard none, and he simply stared at his attendant’s mounting puzzled expression. “Stop that,” Sanzo finally said in a hushed whisper after a few moments of silence, “stop looking like you’re going to cry any minute.”

“...I’m not going to cry,” Goku said in a voice too soft for Sanzo to hear, and try as he might to stop Goku slowly inching closer to his lips, it seemed that the fingers on Goku’s chin subconsciously pulled him along, with their eyes slipping close as their lips met in a chaste kiss, the beginnings of a steady string of soft kisses growing more fervent and more audible to their ears as hands roamed on locks becoming ruffled under languid touches—

The door to Sanzo’s office opened, and Dougan gaped at a growling and glowering Sanzo and a wide-eyed Goku, who pulled away from the disheveled blond.

Dougan felt his heart race and boil, and felt the rising heat to his cheeks. Goku tried and failed to tame his tousled strands, and placed his hands behind his back in an instant, not-so-discreetly licking and biting his slightly swollen lower lip as he looked away from Dougan. Sanzo merely clicked his tongue in annoyance at being disturbed, and he heaved a sigh.

“What?” he snapped—unashamed of his unkempt state—and he scoffed when Dougan’s back straightened and tensed.

Fighting back a stammer, the man with the braids stepped inside the office with heavy steps, his sights avoiding Goku at all costs. “Here’s today’s manuscripts... sir.” His voice was weak, as though his throat went parched.

“Thanks,” Sanzo grunted as he briskly took the manuscripts from Dougan’s stiff hands. “You’re dismissed. Goku, have the manuscripts of the copyeditors from the other departments after your meeting with the managers. Just on this floor, okay?”

“Ah. Okay!” Goku cheered with a snappy salute and a wide grin, and paid no heed to Sanzo’s offhanded wave. Amber eyes met ashen ones, and Goku beamed as though nothing had happened mere seconds ago. Dougan, however, seemed to have lost his train of thought as he stiffly stood in front of Sanzo. Goku had to drag Dougan by the arm as he waved to Sanzo with his usual peppiness.

Once Goku had ushered him outside the office floor and made sure there were few people around, he apologized to a still shellshocked Dougan profusely, hardly comprehensible words of his unprofessionalism zooming past his blabbing mouth, and when Dougan realized that Goku was talking to him, he smiled politely at the still flustered teen.

“It’s quite all right, Mr. Son. Everyone makes mistakes.”

And Goku suddenly stopped his plethora of words, and gaped at him with wide, amber eyes.

Dougan laughed, “Besides, I understand why you would be attracted to President Genjo. He is very charismatic, after all, even if he could be quite cold.”

Goku did not sense the underlying message that Dougan said, and so in his innocence, the brunet chortled, and patted Dougan on his arm. “I guess so. But don’t let him hear that. He wouldn’t like being called pretty.”

Dougan’s eyebrow rose, and the edges of his lip curled into a forced smile, and let out an equally forced laugh. “Is that so? You two seem very close—are you two together?”

The question was something of the beginnings of a light chat, a way to distract Dougan’s currently tumultuous thoughts. He did not expect the brunet to lower his gaze and settle his smile into a mellow one, however.

“We are. Even if he’ll never say it. I can feel it by the way he treats me,” Goku laughed and scratched his head, bashful, “even if he sometimes shouts at me when I do the papers wrong. He’s just really shy.”

Dougan blinked, unsure of what to say, and he said his words carefully as he spoke. “I see. You know President Genjo very well, huh? I heard that Vice President Kanzeon took you in when you were just an infant.”

“She did,” and Goku looked exuberant once more, as though he was waiting to spill his story to the smallest detail the moment someone would ask him. “Auntie is the reason why I met Sanzo. I met him when we were kids. I cherished him since then.”

Dougan hummed, and nodded stiffly, and gave him a tightlipped smile. “Is that so?” Goku nodded, and Dougan opened his mouth to speak once more when someone called the brunet out.

“Son Goku, we are supposed to be in a meeting five minutes ago. I’ve been looking for you—oh, hello,” Homura said in a too brisk and formal tone. Dougan noted Homura’s hand suddenly draping on Goku’s shoulder, urging him away a bit too quickly. “Will probably continue this... idle chat soon, okay? Son Goku, we need to get to the meeting. Goujun will not be pleased if anyone goes missing in his meetings. You know how he is—we don’t call him the Dragon King for nothing. Excuse us, Go Dougan. Well, come now, Son Goku.”

Dougan was left in the middle of a nearly empty hallway, and he did not fail to notice the way that Homura’s hands dug a bit too firmly onto Goku’s shoulders—who was confused at the sudden abruptness, but cooperated along—and he ushered the smaller male away. He also did not fail to notice the way that Homura kept looking back, frowning and directing a stern glare at Dougan.

He frowned as well, and when the two turned to a corner, Dougan sneered, and returned to his floor, quietly seething as he recalled Goku’s words about his closeness to the president—

—and that _kiss_.

It was a mere few seconds when he saw it, but the image was clear in his head—the president and the president’s assistant, with their hands all over each other and their mouths and tongues entwined together, both seemingly uncaring of the consequences if they were seen by anyone—

Dougan gritted his teeth.

Brazen. The kid was too brazen.

That Son Goku probably seduced President Genjo into forcing him to kiss him.

Yes, that was most likely it.

There was no way that the enigmatic CEO of Kinzan would settle for a lowly assistant—there had to be a bribe in there somewhere. Was the president being blackmailed? And by a newbie, no less?

Dougan bit his thumb, anxiety crawling at him from inside out as he returned to his cubicle, ignoring his coworkers on the way.

“I’ll show him. I’ll show him that I can exceed President Genjo’s expectations of me,” he muttered to himself as he went on editing more manuscripts, his fingertips clammy against the cool keyboard keys. “If I succeed at this work that the president wants me to do, he might even make me his assistant again.”

* * *

Sanzo had ordered Gojyo to put a close eye on Zakuro, and the bodyguard was doing exactly that. They have already visited several bookstores for the past few hours, and all of the stores had pulled out a certain book from the shelves. They returned with Zakuro looking crestfallen, and Gojyo idly chewing bubblegum as he texted Hakkai, when they arrived back in Kinzan. Apparently, this book that Zakuro was hellbent on finding seemed to be really important to him, and he had been sulking while playing cards with the redhead for a full hour. Idle conversation from Zakuro’s way of speaking to how he had escaped death from Kami flowed. Apparently, the man had pretended to be dead when Kami left, and Zakuro had escaped through the fire exit and disguised himself a homeless man since then, just to escape being noticed.

The conversation stopped for a while, save for a few words of complaints when a hand was lost in the game, and Zakuro started once more. “Um, Sha Gojyo, was it? I noticed earlier, in all of the bookstores we went to, how... different Kinzan is from Houtou.”

“Huh, different how?”

“Well, you see, Houtou boasts on works about death, and the opposite goes for Kinzan. A wide range of the books talk about making the most of your life after a tragedy and not wallowing in misery—something I have yet to see in Houtou.”

Gojyo barked a laugh as he placed a six of spades on the table, “You got that right. That Buddhist bum boss of mine may be shitty in his practices, but his quality on the things he wants to publish are top-notch. Some say that the veep was the reason that made that stiff bum’s life turned around, but I’m not buying it. Part of a bigger reason, maybe, but not entirely her.” Gojyo downed a shot of whiskey and pointed at Zakuro, “I told you before, but don’t mess with my boss’s assistant. The shrimp may be tiny, but oh boy, you’ll be asking for a death wish if you made him really, and I mean _really_ mad. Know how Sanzo always gets enemies left and right because of his straightforwardness and the books he had published about the skeptics and religion? Yeah. One time, the little chimp and I were with him through the darker parts of the city that no one really goes to unless you’re in a dire need for a shortcut home, and we were about to go home when a middle-aged guy tried stabbing Sanzo on the neck. I disarmed the guy immediately and the chimp went over to the boss. And when we thought it was all over, another guy came up behind the boss and made a large gash on his back.”

“...and then what happened?”

“When Goku saw the boss tip over and saw the large amount of blood on Sanzo’s back, the little chimp went batshit crazy and pulled out his gun and just started shooting at the guy that stabbed the boss—nonstop. Damn imp didn’t stop even when I yelled at him and told him that the guy’s eyes and brains were already spilling out from the amount of bullets it received. It wasn’t until Sanzo, uh, crawled, I guess (oh god don’t tell him I told you this) to Goku and grabbed at his feet. That was when he stopped shooting and started crying all over Sanzo like the guy died. The dead guy’s accomplice was arrested, naturally. I had to stop Goku from rampaging afterwards—the kid wanted him dead, too. And this bleeding Sanzo had to fucking punch the monkey in the gut to stop him from tearing everyone’s limbs in the police station. Turns out those guys that attacked us that night were from your circle, wanting to ‘rise in the ranks’ as the guy said. Kind of like what you said before. They were offended by Sanzo letting a book be published—something about an unknown author calling God himself as a skeptic for being too ‘choosy about who to save and who to destroy’.”

Zakuro was silent, the cards in his hand now forgotten as he imagined Gojyo’s story. He didn’t know what to say, and when he opened his mouth, he muttered a breathless reply. “The boy becomes that angry when Genjo Sanzo is harmed?”

“Uh huh. If the chimp goes that angry if his master gets injured, imagine how angry the master would be if his pet would get the same injury. A thousand times more homicidal—and probably genocidal—I bet.”

Zakuro fell quiet once more, and noted his own hands, shaking against the cards he held, and he swallowed a lump in his throat. “I should say, Sha Gojyo, that I’m really happy that I did not dare lay a finger on either of them.”

“Damn right you should be happy. Or else your brain would be scraped off the streets. Not a pretty sight. Makes me barf if I think about it,” Gojyo drank another shot of whiskey, hissed, and idly pointed at him. “Say, this ‘Meurtre de Humain’ thing that you’ve been asking around the whole day, the fuck is it? It sounds like from another language and shit,” Gojyo commented, blatantly ignoring Zakuro’s muttered whining at his losing hand for the fourth time. “Seems important to you, too. A favorite book of yours or something?” He was met with a shake of a head and a too stiff of a smile.

“It’s complicated. And I guess Houtou had it pulled out from the shelves because I am supposed to be dead—it’s one of the policies. I, the great Zakuro, wrote it, you see.”

“Huh,” Gojyo hummed as he made a bubble with his gum and popped it, “cool. No offense, man, that’s just my honest reaction—working in a publishing house and all. Hearing of people singlehandedly writing books is no news to me. So, what’s it about?”

And Zakuro told him about the book he wrote—of how it was about a man driven to insanity when he lost his job as a receptionist for making fun of a manager’s way of dress. The unemployed man, in his anger, had resorted to killing anyone who dressed like his manager—all with loud patterns and mismatched colors and wearing too strong of a perfume. Zakuro told Gojyo of the protagonist’s method of killing—of mutilating them and chopping them and discarding them on rivers, and when the killer ran out of bags, he’d slice his victims into bite-sized pieces, and put them in a blender and—

“Whoa. Wait. No, no. Stop. Just. Fucking. Stop. That, is just straight up fucked up. Continue no more. Spare me the details, I ain’t reading that shit. You—you’re telling me you _write_ that kind of shit in Houtou?” Gojyo gaped, and had moved a few inches from where he sat near Zakuro minutes ago. What he just heard was a completely messed up story and he—

“Uh, yeah.”

—and fucking Great Zakuro over here reacted like it was the most normal type of book that he had ever written.

“My name’s not on the cover, though. Not a Houtou policy. All writers remain anonymous save for their works.”

And Zakuro looked too fucking proud of it work of the queasy macabre imagery.

It took Gojyo a long while before he could nod and simply go with what the man said. “Uh, yeah. Excuse me for a bit. I uh, gotta take a number two,” and Gojyo didn’t wait for a reply as he stood up, legs wobbling the slightest as he made his way to the bathroom. Once inside and had the door locked, Gojyo dialed a number—all the while, he kept muttering and cursing to himself.

* * *

Sanzo leaned against the headboard of his bed. With Tama splayed sleeping on the foot of the bed and a pajama-clad Goku curled up and slumbering on top of him, he took a deep breath, rearranged his glasses, and turned another page of The Analects.

It had been a mundane day, save for being discovered by his subordinate earlier. He had his suspicions since he saw Dougan giving Goku a stink eye, and had expected that his former assistant might say or do something to Goku when he was out of his sight, but—

—purple eyes looked down at the sleeping teen, and he kissed him on the forehead as he held him closer, and felt a rush of relief upon knowing that the little monkey was safe from any potential harm today. He had a feeling that Dougan hid something. One who acted all quiet and meek while glaring bloody murder at someone when no one was looking was usually a sign that one kept a well-hidden secret.

He turned another page, with one arm still around the boy, and his phone rang.

“What,” Sanzo lazily drawled in a low voice, his eyes intently glued to the words on the book as he switched it to his left hand, cradling Goku still. “...really. Is that so. Why am I not surprised...? ...I feel quite fine, if that’s what you’re asking. ...No, I am just not in the mood to be angry. ...Mind your own business, undine. Is he there with you? ...Okay, I’ll be there in a few minutes—”

Goku stirred in his sleep, nuzzling his head under Sanzo’s chin, and Goku’s stomach grumbled as soon as he opened his eyes and instinctively wrapped his arms around Sanzo’s neck.

Sanzo sighed as Goku looked up at him with a lazy smile and his just-awoke eyes. He clicked his tongue when the too eager teen reached out to him with kisses on his cheek and jaw, “—make that an hour.” He put down his book and ruffled Goku’s hair, “I have to feed my pet.” He rolled his eyes and finally growled in his normal, gruff voice, “...You decide which pet I’m talking about. ...Fuck off and don’t bother me.” Sanzo hung up the phone and lightly scratched at Goku’s scalp. “Get up, Monkey. Zakuro finally spilled his shit.”

“...He got a bad case of diarrhea and pooped all over Gojyo’s carpet?”

Sanzo snorted, “You wish that were the case. Gojyo said that Zakuro idly talked about himself as Meurtre de Humain’s author like it was just him talking about the weather. Gojyo locked himself in the bathroom when he called. That coward frog. Goku, record everything the prick will say, and do it in secret.”

“Sure thing, Sanzo!”

So they ate and they went to where Gojyo’s flat was, just a floor above Sanzo’s—and when they have interrogated Zakuro once more and urged the author to elaborate about how and why he wrote it, Zakuro’s answer was—

“Because they ordered me to. If I, the great Zakuro, would not dare make at least one book with a plot of serial murders, they’ll have my neck next. I have only killed one man in my life and I regretted it. I simply shot him on the head, but chopping a victim and putting him in a blender and drinking his blood and flesh was based on another employee’s experience I overheard in my office, not mine! I, the great Zakuro, merely, may have, prooobably copied a few parts of the experience and wrote it as my own so I wouldn’t have to kill anymore. Did a few tweaks to make it look like it was I who did it and I might have probably forged names and a few newsprints to make headlines look believable (don’t tell my company about that, please). And, um, I was under oath not to divulge on who the perpetrator is. It’s one of the rules. I may not be with Houtou anymore, but I still won’t spill that much info. You’ll have to find the culprit yourself.”

It was a long time before anyone of the interrogators in the living room could speak up, and when Zakuro’s words had finally sunk in—the aforementioned suddenly withdrawing to himself after his major confession—Gojyo made a gagging noise and went straight to the bathroom to vomit, and it was Goku who finally broke the ice, exclaiming curses and howls of disbelief at what he just heard.

“If Homura hears this, your ass is going to be so burnt!” he said, his mouth still hanging open as he looked at Zakuro as though he had sprouted another head.

“Goku. If he reported what he heard to the police—if this guy is to be trusted at all—he’ll die. Remember that,” muttered Sanzo as he discreetly eyed the phone tucked in Goku’s hands behind his back. Sanzo rubbed his temples and leaned back on the sofa. “So. Any more skeletons to expose?”

“Uh, none. I swear I have only killed one. Take my word for it. I will even give myself to the police if you want me to.”

Sanzo and Goku glanced at each other, and the assistant shrugged beside the CEO. Goku had been standing behind the sofa, on Sanzo’s right, just in case.

Zakuro continued, unaware of having his words recorded on Goku’s phone. “As for more secrets, there is none that I remembe—oh. There is one. Well, I don’t think it’s an actual secret but I might as well say it.” Zakuro leaned forward, elbows on his knees, and looked straight at Sanzo’s eyes. “If you’re ever planning on getting inside Houtou, be prepared to steer clear away from the Raven. He will sweet talk you into his palm until you couldn’t say no to him anymore.”

* * *

Dougan did his best into researching everything about Houtou Publishing House, as the president had told him a few days ago. He had memorized the staff’s faces, their positions, their departments. He had even begrudgingly accepted that Son Goku’s pieces of advice on the days that he forced himself to be with the joyful young man. Dougan realized what his beloved president found in the boy—it was Son Goku’s constant cheer and optimistic nature. He huffed as he looked over the papers in his hand, then out of the window of his decent apartment. From a few meters away, he could see Kinzan and its greatness. Dougan couldn’t live inside the company, as he lacked certain abilities to warrant a residence there.

He frowned at the papers in his hand. He had memorized everything that the president had told him to—

—save for one.

He had yet to know the face and name of the one who ran Houtou, so he did the next best thing.

He went to Houtou House, and ventured inside the infamous company.

Two doormen were stationed near the revolving doors, both of them stone-faced and unmoving from their respective spots. Around their necks were an ID of sorts, although, instead of showing faces and their positions, it showed only a barcode, with seemingly random numbers under the IDs that Dougan failed to comprehend.

Inside were marbled floors and walls of peacock and stone blue, and low lighting emanated from the ceilings. Blinding white lights flooded from the reception area, where a woman sat, her face stern and void of any welcoming air. Around her neck was the same barcode ID as the doormen.

Dougan gulped and instinctively tucked his stray hair behind his ear as the receptionist stiffly craned her neck to him. He had placed his long braid behind his too big of a winter jacket on instinct—an odd choice of clothing in the middle of spring—and went over to the desk, mustering what he had hoped as a friendly smile.

“Uh, hi. Um, yes. I was wondering if I could talk to anyone here about the workings of Houtou’s success? I am doing research on successful publishing houses and I chose Houtou for its fame.” The receptionist looked at him blankly, and Dougan forced himself to smile wider as a spontaneous idea came to mind. “Well, of course I could always go to the next best publishing house and ask them for their formula to success. I had a talk with my professor, you see. I told him that if I were to get an interview from the publishing house I chose, I’ll make sure that my classmates and I will buy that publishing house’s books for a month and—”

“Wait for a bit, I will contact whoever is available,” came the receptionist’s curt reply. And Dougan waited with a stiff smile, his sights idly taking in the dour décor of the building. The Ying Yefu paintings placed on the open spaces of the walls made Dougan sick. Paintings of a child peeling his forehead to reveal the insides of a watermelon; a child’s cut off limbs with an eye spewing from the hand; a naked, little girl squeezing the flesh of her stomach to make herself thinner—

Dougan almost gagged.

There were no such things like these that existed in the premises of Kinzan!

“The chief will be with you shortly,” the receptionist said in her matter-of-fact tone, and did not look at him anymore as she typed away on the computer.

Dougan muttered his thanks, but went ignored, and he glanced at her odd ID, and noted that there was no name written on the card, save for that mysterious barcode and random numbers. And when a man decked in a white suit and tie—smoking a cigarette with his back hunched over—came up to him with a lopsided smile, Dougan immediately stood up.

“Ah, you’re here to interview me?” asked the man in white, idly shuffling coins and keys inside his pockets as he swayed on the balls of his feet.

“Are you perhaps, a manager here, sir?” Dougan asked. This man was a new face to remember. He was not in any of the files he received from the president.

The man with the off-setting smile on his face looked up, his rimmed glasses temporarily concealing the blackness of his eyes. He swayed on the balls of his feet once more, hands jingling the coins in his pockets, “Well, you could say that.” He scratched at his goatee and looked at Dougan, “Shall we start the interview now, or shall I be the one to ask you questions?”

* * *

“So, what does he usually do aside from talking people’s ears off?” Goku asked, genuinely curious at Zakuro’s revelation.

“Well, he usually starts off with idle chat, and then he’d subtly pry into your private life and all that. If you’re not careful, he’ll have you eating out from his palm,” Zakuro shrugged, frowning. “His main targets are the gullible ones, and shall we say, I was—...also one of those, sadly.”

Zakuro’s serious demeanor and the lack of his usual arrogance suggested that what he had said was true. Goku leaned over to Sanzo’s ear.

“Sanzo, what about... _him?_ ”

Sanzo clicked his tongue in annoyance and crossed his arms as he leaned back on the sofa, “‘Gullible’ is an understatement for that man. ‘Downright imbecilic with no sense of intuition’ seems to fit him more.”

* * *

Once Dougan had finished his interview with the chief in the chief’s office itself, Dougan thanked him to no end, and bowed and smiled all the same. And when he shook the chief’s hand, the chief patted Dougan on the shoulder twice.

With the same, glib smile that he wore throughout, the chief let out a stream of smoke from his cigarette, and grinned a tad wider at Dougan’s masked wince.

“It was nice meeting you, Go Dougan.”

“Ah, no. The pleasure is all mine, President Ni! Such an honor to be in your presence, sir!” Dougan beamed, and when their formalities ended and both parted ways for the meantime, he saw a man who looked at him with a questioning expression. Dougan smiled at the man on instinct, and left the office without a backward glance.

The man stared at Dougan’s retreating back, then at the oddly humming chief leaning against a neat desk. He went over to the chief, smiling with glee.

“Master! I’ve returned!” he declared, and spared the retreating Dougan a doubtful glance. “You had a visitor?”

“Hm? Ah, yes, yes. A visitor,” Jien Yi shrugged, a lopsided smirk in place—the very picture of nonchalance. “Interesting man, he is. Seems like he’s a researcher of sorts—at least, that’s what he said.” A flash of slightly yellowed teeth brimmed from behind his thin lips, and he blew a stream of smoke in his former charge’s way. “Why, you know him?”

The question was a test—his judging, very dark eyes glinting with a knowing look.

“Know him? No. _Knew_ , maybe.” He twirled a stray strand of his blond hair, and patted it flat on his mark on his right eye. “I have my doubts against him, Master,” he huffed, tapping an impatient, booted foot on the floor.

“Really... Heh,” Jien Yi pushed his glasses upwards, a manic grin now painting his lips as he laughed. “How coincidental—so have I. And that’s why I placed a bug on him before he left, little child.”

Kami hummed, and looked at the now empty hallway through the glass doors. He had once worked in Kinzan, and he had seen a glimpse of Dougan’s true nature—

—of his unceasing obsession with Kinzan’s CEO.

The blond chortled, shoulders shaking as he covered his mouth with his hand.

Go Dougan would bring his own company to ruin, Kami thought.

“Interesting,” Kami guffawed, mirth flowing from his tears as he looked at Ni Jien Yi’s smug face. “ _Really_ interesting.”

* * *

Zakuro rearranged Gojyo’s books—including the ones with questionable content—thrice. He had been cooped up in Gojyo’s flat since yesterday, and had let out his frustration through reading all the books in the redhead’s apartment. All of them were, unsurprisingly, from Kinzan. He had never read any book from Kinzan, and when he had read one—

—he found that he couldn’t stop.

A tear fell from his eye when he read one book—about life and rebirth, and of fated meetings and fated deaths.

He had never read anything like it.

Its author was someone he had never heard of, but its words struck through his heart. Zakuro now sat crosslegged on the carpeted floor and kept reading until Gojyo arrived and called for him. Too immersed in his reading, Zakuro merely grunted lowly as a reply as he read, his eyes stuck on the words on the paper.

The bodyguard came up behind him and peered over the book that Zakuro was reading.

“Ah. It’s that book about Death loving Love. Hakkai gave that to me as a present last year—don’t ask why and don’t look at me like that. It’s one of his favorites from Kinzan,” Gojyo shrugged, and eyed the small stack of books beside Zakuro. “You’ve been reading my stuff? I don’t mind, just sayin’. Just put them back in order. Hakkai comes in here from time to time and arranges all of them. He knows when anything’s moved. So uh, yeah. Put it back to how you originally saw them. I don’t look at them much, so I don’t remember.”

A quiet, ‘oh’ left Zakuro’s lips, and looked at the small mess he made, then back at the book he was reading, and he gestured an absentminded nod and a silent hum of compliance as he dug his nose deeper into the book. “Okay, just let me finish this one book.”

Gojyo laughed, and waved his hand in dismissal, “I didn’t know you could be like Hakkai. Haha! Go read to your heart’s content. I’ll just report to the boss for the day.”

Zakuro made a noncommittal grunt, and only craned his neck to the door when he heard the front door close. “Sha Gojyo? ...I guess he left. Meh. Time to go back to reading.” He made himself at home and took the book with him around the apartment, idly chewing at a bowl of mozzarella sticks in the living room as he turned page after page of the book. At one point, he answered Gojyo’s phone and idly wrote a memo from the caller. ‘Remind Gojyo to call some guy named Banri.’

When Gojyo returned an hour later, Zakuro reminded Gojyo about Banri, and the former Houtou employee returned to Gojyo’s room, poring over book after book from Kinzan.

A good three hours later, after Gojyo had long gone to bed, Zakuro had continued reading under a lamp in a corner where Gojyo’s rickety, wooden chair was, and concluded that Houtou really was a far cry from Kinzan.

When Houtou talked about death and despair and despondency, Kinzan talked about existence, endurance, and exuberance. Kinzan’s words were of unceasing hope in life and finding happiness in the smallest of things, whereas Houtou’s words were of relentless downward spirals of hatred in life and finding grievances in the smallest of things. If reading books from Houtou gave readers a sense of hopelessness in a deep pit of ennui, reading books from Kinzan gave readers a sense of optimism in a floating bubble of contentment in the world.

Polar opposites, they were, and for the first time, Zakuro understood what drew people to Kinzan’s works—they were literature like no other.

Zakuro closed ‘The Love of Death’ feeling lighthearted, and a small smile that he couldn’t stop from forming spilled from his lips. It was, as Sha Gojyo had said, a story about two anthropomorphic personified emotions, Death and Love, on which Death fell in love with Love, but both couldn’t exist together, for Love would die should Death touch her, and so both remained apart, loving one another from afar. It was a story that had brought the proud Zakuro to quiet sobs.

He sniffled and wiped his runny nose on the hem of his sleeveless shirt, and discreetly glanced at the slumbering Gojyo in bed. Since he had laid eyes on these books, he formed a decision in his heart, and he nodded to himself as he returned the book back to its shelf, and he went over to the living room to sleep on the couch.

He hoped—a word that he had never once used in any of his books—that his decision this time would not bring him to the streets once more.

Sighing, he switched off the lamp and willed himself to sleep.

* * *

It was barely five in the morning when Sanzo woke up to an incessant rapping at his door. Nudging a whining Goku on the ribs, Sanzo muttered a string of curses when Goku rolled over the bed and opted to bury his head on Sanzo’s neck instead, refusing to answer the door in his pajamas. He clicked his tongue and blindly grabbed at his gun on the table in the dark and nudged a whining Goku aside. Sanzo sluggishly made his way over to the front door, switching on all the lights on his way, and checked the peephole before cursing and opening the door.

“Do you have any idea what fucking time it is?” Sanzo growled with his eyes squinted and bloodshot at being woken up rudely. In front of him, a wide-eyed and awkwardly shifting Zakuro stood, smiling sheepishly at Sanzo.

“Uh, can I come in?”

“Fuck you. Where’s Gojyo?”

“Upstairs still sleeping. Ah, he’s alive, I promise,” Zakuro held his palms outwards upon seeing Sanzo on the verge of yelling, his bloodshot eyes glaring daggers at him. “I just want to talk to you, Genjo Sanzo.”

“Can’t it fucking wait until later in the day, you ass?”

“Uh,” Zakuro looked away, then back at Sanzo, “no?”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Sanzo roughly scratched at his nape and bedhead, slamming the door wide open, “come in, fuckface.”

Zakuro let out a low laugh and entered Sanzo’s apartment, and flinched as he took off his shoes when Sanzo’s cat glared at him with the same intensity as her owner. He shuffled on the sofa with a small, tightlipped smile as Sanzo glowered on the opposite side.

“Well? Start talking. You better have a good reason to wake me up at goddamn five,” Sanzo crossed his arms, bare foot tapping on the carpet. When he heard shuffling from the corner behind him, he sighed.

“Sanzo... who was it...?” Goku grumbled as he rubbed the sleep from his eyes and dragged his slippered feet on the carpet. He paused in his tracks when he saw Zakuro sitting across Sanzo, all wide-eyed with his mouth hanging open. “Oh, hi,” he mumbled, his voice gruff and laden with sleep. Stepping into the kitchen, he yawned as he scratched his stomach, a hint of his ink showing underneath the wrinkled, white dress shirt, “Sanzo, you want coffee?”

“Nah, I got enough coffee in the form of this pissface banging on the door,” he grumbled, stifling a yawn. “Well? Get on with it, Zakuro. It’s Saturday and I need more sleep.”

The aforementioned heaved a deep breath, his shoulders and chest rising as he braced himself. “Genjo Sanzo, after... reading all of your company’s works, I felt something. I felt light and relieved. I don’t know why, but...”

He gulped, and noted that even Son Goku had paused in stirring a mug of coffee and squinted groggily at Zakuro.

“I, the great Zakuro, wish to become a writer in Kinzan.”

It took moments before Zakuro’s words sank in, and when they did, the sleep and the bloodshot eyes from Goku and Sanzo left their consciousness, and they exclaimed in unison.

“You want to be a _what!?_ ”

* * *

Dougan pinned a small memo on his corkboard. ‘Ni Jien Yi, chief of Houtou – notify Pres. Genjo’, and at the bottom of the paper beside an asterisk, there was a smaller print, ‘kind man’. He smiled, and noted to himself that President Genjo would be proud of what he had done. Glancing at the scribbled notes he had made during his ‘interview’ with Chief Ni, Dougan felt a rush of elation at what he had accomplished. His goal was to get a certain list of people that had worked in Godworks and Houtou—from where he would get such a list, he didn’t know. Although after his sense of accomplishment, Dougan felt his self-esteem rise, and made another appointment to visit Houtou under Chief Ni’s guidance.

All of these were, of course, not part of President Genjo’s instructions—Dougan felt half-guilty upon hiding agendas from his president, but another part of him felt a rush of pride, proud of making President Genjo feel proud for Dougan’s achievements.

At least, Dougan hoped his president would be proud of him.

He beamed at his work on the table, then at the overlooking view of Kinzan from a distance away.

“ _I’ll have my rightful place by President Genjo’s side, Son Goku. Don’t worry._ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are actually no black eyes (even if Ni’s eyes are said to be black)—just very, very dark brown eyes that looked almost black. :3 Also, I’m quite aware of Ni’s name as Jian Yi in his bio, but I stuck myself with Jien Yi, the early spelling of his name. Um. Idk why. XD


	9. Chapter 9

On that same day, Sanzo, Goku, and Homura have discussed deep and long about letting a Houtou employee into the threshold of Kinzan’s works. All the while, the CEO had made Zakuro return to Gojyo’s flat as they talked things out. And when they did, all of them came to an agreement.

Zakuro was not to write anything that involved any sort of violence, and none of his works should be forged or plagiarized, to prevent any situation from becoming drastic and might end up being a second Kami in the making. He agreed, and Sanzo took the reins on supervising Zakuro’s work, with Homura checking in on the former Houtou employee from time to time.

“This means that you’ll have to read Meurtre de Humain sometime—to take a look at how he writes his stuff and all that,” Goku commented as he arranged a manuscript in Sanzo’s office. “You haven’t glanced at it since you bought it, you know.”

“Tch. I don’t plan on reading that shit. I’ll leave that to you.”

Goku stared long and hard at his boss, who was trying his best in turning away and ignoring the golden-eyed stare sent his way. “Sanzo.” The flick of the newspaper covering Sanzo’s face answered Goku’s caustic expression, and the brunet snorted. “You _need_ to read it to understand how his mind works—”

“I already did. Five chapters of it.”

“The book has 35.”

“Shut it.”

Goku sighed and patted the finished manuscript on the table. Going over behind the desk, he took the paper from the blond’s hands and sat on the desk, “If you say so. Homura will keep a close eye on him when you’re not around.” Sanzo snorted and took the paper back from Goku’s hands and tried reading again. Goku, tired from his boss’s stubbornness, looked blankly at the wall with one raised brow and pursed lips. Itching for a change of topic, he hissed and clamped his lips, and looked back at the newspaper in his employer’s hands. “By the way, have you seen Dougan? Because he wasn’t in the meeting earlier. Goujun went ballistic because every editor had to be there, and Dougan was the only one not present.”

Goku had Sanzo’s attention now as he finally lowered the paper from his face. “No. He was supposed to submit his author’s work today. Did he call in for a leave?”

“No. None of his staff knew of his sudden absence today, not even a possible reason for it.”

Sanzo tapped his fingers on the armrest, lips pursed in thought at his employee’s absence. “That’s odd. He has a perfect record since day one.”

“Maybe he’s sick?”

The blond furrowed his brows at his assistant, trying to find answers to his unspoken questions. Dougan was one of the model employees in the Buddhist fiction department—always early, never tardy in anything and everything. Dougan would have been the perfect, model employee if it weren’t for his odd behavior at certain times.

During the two short days that seemed to be too long for Sanzo, Dougan had constantly followed the CEO around—during lunch breaks, during meetings where Dougan shouldn’t be in, and even to the restroom, often using the excuse that he needed to take a leak at the same time that Sanzo needed to take a leak.

Sanzo had consulted Kanzeon about Dougan’s behavior on the first night, and she told him that maybe Dougan admired Sanzo a bit, something that the blond brushed off as hogwash.

On the second day of Dougan being his assistant, something happened, and it resulted to Sanzo burying those events in the recesses of his mind.

He thought that he could be a replacement for Sanzo’s foster father at some point—something that Dougan had foolishly said at one occasion during a supposedly small talk over a meeting—and it had disgusted the blond. He transferred the man to another department the following day.

“Sanzo, you’ll get wrinkles with all that face scrunching.”

“Shut up, I’m thinking.”

Goku shrugged, grinning as he looked away.

The office door opened, and in came a flushed and flustered Dougan, his fringe plastered to his forehead with sweat, his glasses askew, and his coat not properly straightened on the right shoulder. Behind him, a red-faced and tensed woman berated him, stomping her foot in earnest—

“You can’t come in here! The president said he’s not to be distur—President Genjo, I’m so sorry! Mr. Go insisted so much even though I forbade him to—”

“This is urgent!” Dougan pleaded, tugging his arm away from Sanzo’s secretary’s hands. “President Genjo, I need to talk to you!”

“Is it important?” Sanzo muttered, and when Dougan nodded, the blond sighed. “It’s okay, you can leave him. And close the door.”

His secretary placed her hands on her lap and bowed, pursing her lips with a withheld protest, and she gave Dougan a wary look, and held her chin high as she closed the door on her way out.

“So,” the president started as he took out a cigarette and ignored Goku’s frown towards the little stick, “what’s the problem?”

Dougan opened his mouth to speak, and closed it when he realized that the president’s assistant sat on the president’s left, on the desk, all casual and comfortable as the brunet looked at him with wide, blinking and curious eyes, as though it was a normal thing for a CEO’s assistant to just nonchalantly plop on the president’s orderly desk—with his thigh just inches from the president’s hand—and those golden eyes were looking at him like he had just committed a heinous crime—

“Dougan.”

Hearing the president utter his name snapped Dougan out of his thoughts in a split second, and he smiled in automatic response, “Ah, yes. Um. President Genjo, I just want to apologize for not being in the meeting earlier—...and for coming in late today.”

Sanzo glanced at the clock on his computer, it was well past lunchtime—that made Sanzo hum in thought as he took a drag from his cigarette. “Right. Now, does this apology of yours actually warrant you to just,” he flipped his hand in dismissal as his upper lip curled in an almost snarl, “barge in and disrupt your other coworkers and blatantly disobey the order that I gave to my secretary for others to follow?”

“Ah. I’m sorry, I—”

“No, right? If that’s all you have to say, you can fuck off,” he growled, letting off his steam through the wispy trail of smoke from his lips.

“Sanzo,” Goku chided gently as he leaned closer to the blond, “you don’t have to be mean. Maybe a personal problem came up and he had to solve it quickly—”

“Yeah, but do you have to go through five floors to my office just to say sorry?” Sanzo paused as Goku opened his mouth to speak, and he stopped him with a raised index, “I know what you’re going to say, and no, I’m not talking about you, I’m talking about him.”

“Oh.” And Goku laughed as he scratched his head.

Sanzo sighed, and looked at Dougan with a skeptic look, one brow raised and lips downturned in a frown. “Well?”

Dougan blanched, and stammered. “I thought that President would be w-worried that I—”

“And why the fuck would I be worried? Did you die? You know what, fuck that. How’s your info gathering going? You’re memorizing everything right, I suppose?”

Dougan beamed at the change of topic and at the prospect of being forgiven. “Oh, yes, President Genjo! I actually,” his smile faltered a bit as he glanced at Goku, who still looked at him with utmost curiosity—and he wanted to wipe that look from his face. Dougan bit back a laugh as his teeth showed, all grins and pride showing on his pale face. “I actually memorized everything, President Genjo. Everything you asked me to memorize about Houtou and Godworks and more. Oh, and also, I—”

“Is that so,” Sanzo cut in as he puffed on his cigarette, “that’s good, then. Don’t go off on your own until I say so.”

Dougan’s eyes widened at the president’s words, and felt his lungs expand with air and his heart stop for a moment too long. His broad smile widened even further, elation filling his entire being. “Thank you, President Genjo! I—” he paused, and pondered over his next words. The president just told him not to go off on his own—he was worried! “I’ll make sure to follow your every order, sir!”

Sanzo hummed and puffed out the life out of the little stick. “Make sure you do. Because obedience,” he stubbed the butt of the cigarette on the ashtray, squishing it at he looked straight at Dougan’s eyes, “is absolute in this company.”

Dougan’s smile froze, and he looked at the president’s eyes, narrowed and suspicious, then at the assistant’s, all stern and cold.

He gulped, and recalled everything he had done since this morning—being in Houtou and talking to Chief Ni—and he forced a laugh as he felt sweat trickle down his already dampened dress shirt beneath his coat.

“Don’t worry, President Genjo! I am obedient to your every word.”

* * *

 

In Gojyo’s flat, Zakuro sat in the living room—around him were Kinzan books, and a thesaurus. Scribbling notes for him on his left was Goku.

“—so, you go over this one with the red marks again, and not that.”

“I see,” mumbled Zakuro, who muttered the notes to himself, then glanced at the laptop screen, and typed away.

Goku nodded to himself. Checking on Zakuro’s progress as a Kinzan writer proved to be an easy task. After showing him a few corrections and telling him a few directions, Zakuro would do the rest directly. At one point, Sanzo called Goku on his phone and asked him about Zakuro’s work, and the brunet told him that the writer was doing well, jotting down necessary notes and mulling over the advice given to him. Zakuro was, as Goku had stated to Sanzo on the phone, a very subservient man, contrary to what Zakuro had been during his days as a Houtou employee.

Goku slurped on a bowl of cold noodles as he read what Zakuro typed. It was a story of a man searching for the best firewood in the forest, and had lost his way back to the village. It was under the works, Zakuro had said, and wished to flesh it out more before he could show it to Sanzo.

“Boy, do you conceive of me as dangerous?” Zakuro asked as he typed. “I’m not exactly the poster boy for the model employee in the market, you know. And right now, I could kill you.”

“Nah, you wouldn’t,” Goku grumbled as he chewed on the noodles and slurped on the beef broth, “I can tell. Yer kind. If you weren’t, you—” He paused as he chewed on a piece of beef, “If you weren’t, you wouldn’t even shed a tear after reading one book from Kinzan.”

The typing stopped, and Zakuro looked at Goku, puzzled at the brunet’s words. “Is that so. Are the people who read Kinzan kind?”

“Not necessarily. But if you cried your eyes out from reading The Love of Death, then it means you have a heart. At least, that’s what Hakkai told me. He’s great with the psychology stuff.”

Zakuro hummed, and nodded to himself, mouthing words as he resumed typing. Working under Genjo Sanzo’s wing was a breath of fresh air. There was no boss constantly hovering on your neck, no suggestion left unheard, no greeting left ignored, no stress from meeting ‘deadlines’ of a different kind—

—and most of all, no life was wasted on futile attempts of usurping someone for a higher position. Every one had a role in Kinzan that they all deemed as an immense privilege no matter how small of a role it looked at first glance, and from what he could tell, they were all grateful to Genjo Sanzo. Zakuro realized it now. Having a roof on your head with the payment of simply protecting the CEO’s life sounded easy enough, he supposed.

He remembered what Sha Gojyo told him about this boy, Son Goku, about how far he went to avenge his employer when he thought that Genjo Sanzo had a fatal wound.

And maybe, just maybe, protecting the 31st president of Kinzan Publishing had its dangers, too.

But if its reward was being kept safe and alive without the worry of being killed by your fellow workers for money, then he supposed guarding Genjo Sanzo’s life daily was a small amount that he could pay willingly.

Zakuro sniffled his worries away as he typed, pouring everything he had in mind into his words on screen. If he had previously written nothing but the macabre in Houtou, then he would write nothing but the existing in Kinzan, and would use his knowledge to transform lives for the better, just as how Kinzan had done for him since he was accepted under its care. He swore never to use violence against another person ever again—

“Zakuro, you’re crying.”

Zakuro wiped his tears, muttering it was nothing, and Goku shrugged with a grin. “I can make more somen if you like.”

“Boy, you have a strange palette. Eating somen in fall?”

“Eating noodles is always good no matter what time of the year,” Goku laughed. “Besides, you should see Sanzo. He always puts mayonnaise on everything he eats.”

Zakuro paused typing once more, “What?”

And Goku prattled about in his usual cheerful way, telling Zakuro things about Sanzo—the man’s odd habits and funny quirks, telling him about Sanzo sleeping with earbuds on and how he always jumped in surprise whenever he saw his own cat behind him; telling him about the amount of time Sanzo spent in front of the mirror trying to tame his bedhead and make his small tuft of hair fluff upwards to the way he wanted it; telling him about how he only preferred to eat rice steeped in green tea; about how his bottom lip jutted just the slightest when things didn’t go his way and how his eyebrows scrunched down even in sleep—

“So you two _are_ going out, then? There’s no way you would know all of those things if you aren’t together with him in an intimate sense,” interrupted Zakuro, and he noted the way that Goku had lit up during the whole conversation. Gone was his focus on writing, he thought that maybe this conversation could be a source of material for his work, and so he focused his attention on Goku’s story. “Is Genjo Sanzo trying to hide it? Is that why he pointed his gun at me in the restaurant?”

Goku laughed, sheepish, Zakuro noticed, and the brunet bit back his grin, “Well, he’s not really making an effort to hide it if he is, he just gets shy when things are pointed out to him. Sanzo is Sanzo, I know his shyness on some things will disappear the longer you get to know him. It takes time for him to warm up to people. Like a cat.”

Zakuro laughed, and they talked about other things, speculations on mysteries and their shared fondness for theater arts, and as days passed, Goku had developed camaraderie with Zakuro, a fact that Sanzo noticed one day when Goku had declared he’d invite Zakuro over to Sanzo’s flat for dinner. Kanzeon was one thing, but Zakuro?

“Hey, little monkey. You’re getting ahead of yourself,” Sanzo said in irritation and a click of a tongue. “Why didn’t you tell me first? The damn apartment’s not yours, idiot!”

“I just told you now, you know,” Goku shrugged, unfazed at the blond’s usual tantrums. The teen glanced at where a sweetly smiling Kanzeon stood by the shelf near Sanzo’s desk, checking on some of the books that were passed on to Sanzo. It was obvious that she was amused by her nephew’s little outburst. Goku held back a giggle upon seeing Sanzo glower at him. And when he sweetly told him that he could finally make molten lava cake, Goku took notice of the way Sanzo’s eyes narrowed and glimmered, and Goku giggled.

“Got ya.”

“Fuck off.”

Goku covered his mouth, giggling the same time as Kanzeon did. “Konzen, my child is just helping you make friends. Isn’t that right, Goku dear?” She laughed as she hugged Goku tightly to her bosom, and blatantly ignored her nephew’s yells.

“I don’t need your coddling, hag. Why are you even here in my room? Go back to your mansion!”

Kanzeon laughed, and whispered to Goku not-so-quietly, “Isn’t it adorable? My little nephew is acting like a teenager who just read Freud for the first time. Oh, Konzen is so lucky to have you as his, my child! Let me hug you again!”

Sanzo gritted his teeth at his aunt’s words and scratched at his hair in irritation. “I swear, one of these days I’ll strangle you with your stupid hair.”

She giggled, ignoring Sanzo’s empty threat, and released Goku. Smiling at the golden necklace around his neck, she hummed. “You still wear it, I see.”

Goku blinked, and peered down at his necklace, and grinned at Kanzeon, “Of course I always wear this! It’s a gift from you and Sanzo!”

An amused smile painted her lips as she hugged him once more, “Such a sweet angel you are! Such a far cry from my demon of a nephew—!”

“Hey, what the fuck? Who are you calling a demon, you—”

“—always keep it with you,” Kanzeon said softly as she smoothed Goku’s unruly locks. “It is a special necklace just for you. It keeps bad people away from you, my little one.”

“’ow?” Goku mumbled, his voice muffled against her bosom. He had quite gotten used to her sudden hugs for quite some time—the act never bothered him at all.

“Why, that’s a secret that only I know, dear Goku,” she giggled, tapping his nose as she did so. “Just always keep your promise about wearing it all the time.”

“Yes, Auntie!” Goku cheered, hugging her back with much enthusiasm, much to Sanzo’s exasperation from the sight of it all.

“Yeah, sure. Ignore my fucking question. Don’t bother me and carry on with your sappiness. Are you two done yet?”

“Oh, I’m sorry, Konzen. You want to join us?”

“Shut up, hag. Tell me why you’re here.”

She hummed, and tapped a painted nail on her red lips. Patting Goku’s hair, she sent her nephew a wink, “I wanted to know how our guest is doing. He’s a valuable witness to our case, after all.”

“The dipshit is fine. Goku and Homura are overseeing them from time to time. He’s just having problems with writing up scenes that don’t involve the macabre.”

“Well, if he’s doing his job in keeping his hands to himself, then it’s a great progress. Keep monitoring his work and his behavior. He tends to use his experiences as sources for his material. If his tone in his writing changed, be on guard and double the security. But—from what I’m seeing, Zakuro is amenable. He cooperates well and does as what he’s told. He would’ve been a great asset if he had started here.”

“True,” mumbled Sanzo as he briefly looked at Zakuro’s first draft laid out on the table. “Did Goku report to you about him?”

“No, I just know,” Kanzeon smiled, her eyes narrowed and glinting at her nephew’s silent curiosity. She waved off Sanzo’s suspicious glare with a coy laugh, “Never you mind about the trivial things, I just want to tell you that Homura’s influence is all over protecting Zakuro from Houtou now. You know how Shien and Zenon do their jobs.”

“I don’t give a shit about Homura’s flunkies howling to me about giving protective custody to the fucker and put him in solitary confinement. They can suck Odd Eyes’s shoes for all I care. The pissface will be under my watch and that’s that. Also, I’m not badgering Zakuro, if that’s what you’re saying.”

“I know you don’t, Konzen. I simply want to tell you to be alert at all times. Even if Zakuro is on our side now, someone else might be planning to stab you in the back. Figuratively, this time. Oh, and don’t call those two his flunkies, dear. One of them is a great lawyer—your lawyer—and the other one controls the army. Remember that.”

* * *

Dougan scribbled notes on his small notebook. In Chief Ni’s office that was decorated with a number of framed shunga paintings on the white walls, Dougan sat and forced himself to be comfortable on a sofa as his eyes unintentionally landed at the erotic artworks from time to time. Beside him was the chief, observing him discreetly behind his glasses.

“Let me repeat it again for the sake of clarity, Chief Ni. Houtou is expanding to provide more work and houses for the employees?”

“Why, yes,” said the chief, rearranging his glasses for the umpteenth time as he smoked and grinned, “Houtou and the sister company, Godworks, are providing work and places where the workers can live comfortably, all within a small community. Events related to the companies are held there, and everyone knows everyone. It’s a very friendly place. You should drop by sometime. You can cite it as another source, too.”

Dougan then beamed, eyes wide and almost sparkling as he sat upright with exclamation. His prior nervousness about seeing the paintings that made him squirm seemed forgotten. “Can I really? I—I will have to ask my professor about it! Um, he is very strict about deadlines, and I have to notify him about my progress.”

The chief hummed—with the same snide grin in place—as he draped his arms on the back of the sofa, and looked at the ceiling, “Very strict, eh. Sure, you can ask him about it.” He paused, and listened to Dougan now scribbling away on the notes on hand. Puffing the cigarette, he stretched out his legs, and gave Dougan a sidelong glance. “By the way, if you could, you can ask your professor about having you work here for part-time. You seem like a,” he shrugged, palm outstretched at Dougan with a lopsided smile, “a responsible young man.”

Dougan stopped writing, and scratched his head, “Ah, that’s—thank you, Chief Ni, but I have to decline the offer. I already have a... part-time job, you see.”

“Oh? Too bad, you would’ve been great if you were to work here. What type of work do you do?”

Dougan blinked, his eyes turning away for a moment before looking back at the chief. At the same time, he shuffled his hand inside his pocket briefly, and scratched his cheek, laughing softly, “I work at a coffee shop. I’m a barista there, you see.”

Jien Yi hummed, his smile widening a tad more, “Really? That’s nice. I could drop there sometime. Mind if you could—”

Just then, a phone rang, and Dougan straightened up automatically. He apologized to the chief for his rudeness, and discreetly took out his phone and checked the screen.

“Ah. Oh. Chief Ni, excuse me, I need to answer this real quick. I’m really sorry!”

Jien Yi shrugged and smiled as he took a drag of smoke, “I don’t mind.”

And so Dougan excused himself out and answered the call, leaving the chief in his office, grinning at the ceiling.

When Dougan returned, he bowed profusely, and told the Houtou chief that his professor was calling him over for a special class.

“It’s all right,” Jien Yi said, and he went over to Dougan and patted him on the shoulder. “We can talk again sometime.”

Dougan’s shoulders sagged at the chief’s words, and tears seemed to pool from Dougan’s eyes when he expressed his relief, and told the chief that he would return the following week. Jien Yi was fine with it, and Dougan left with a huge smile on his face.

Upon leaving, Chief Ni stubbed the cigarette on the ashtray, grinning to himself.

“Coffee shop, eh.” ~~~~

* * *

~~~~“Hey, Dougan. You seem kind of—...jittery lately. And you seem to be always missing during lunchtime. Even Mr. Son from the copyediting department is looking for you and has been coming here lately asking for you. Is there a problem?”

Dougan flinched at his seat, and looked at where his fellow editor beside his cubicle was giving him a concerned expression—all knotted brows and slightly parted lips, with a hand ready to reach out for a gesture of genuine worry.

He stared back at his computer screen, and noted the blank page on his document.

He mentally cried at the sight of the numerous sticky notes—all written by different people—stuck on top of his computer screen, and the enormous piles of papers stacked all over his desk made him want to bang his head on the wall—

—Dougan had been slacking off on his work. And most of them were two days overdue at least.

That wouldn’t do him good. He took pride in always submitting everything two days before the deadline—!

Dougan gulped, and felt his heart race, “Oh, uh, something came up at home, you see—”

“But don’t you live alone?”

“I do, but—I have my problems, too, okay?”

And Dougan returned his eyes on his screen, and said nothing more. He ignored his coworker’s worried stare. He had to finish working on editing eight manuscripts—five novels and three novellas—before the end of the week and he was starting to feel restless. And there were also manuscripts he had to submit prior to that and he haven’t even started on those yet.

His breathing became shallower, and felt his blood run cold.

He had thought that juggling his time between working in Kinzan and infiltrating Houtou would be a breeze, but he thought wrong—

—and now, that Son Goku had caught wind of his recent, short disappearances at work. Knowing Son Goku, the teen might probably be gossiping to President Genjo by now, telling the CEO about how lousy Dougan had become. And why had Son Goku been going to Dougan’s floor?

Dougan stopped, and his eyes widened.

Maybe Son Goku had caught wind about him going over to Houtou—!

Dougan’s vision slipped from focus as he stared at his twitching and suddenly cold hands.

He remembered President Genjo’s words flash in his head—

‘ _Obedience is absolute._ ’

He loosened his tie from his neck just a tad, and felt cold sweat run down his back. Surely, he had been doing his task of researching about Houtou. Wasn’t that what he was told to do?

Yes.

His task was to get that list of people from Houtou and Godworks—and the only way to do it was to get to the chief of the company itself.

Yes. That was it.

Dougan nodded to himself. He was doing the right thing.

And so he buried his nose in his work until late in the night, when all of his coworkers were gone and have retired to their rooms and their homes. When he had finished, he realized it was well past nine at night.

Dougan sighed, and stretched out his limbs. He had finished three of the eight manuscripts, and he felt his stomach going up in knots.

“I need to submit these now—but office hours ended... ah.”

He got up and cleaned up his desk, put all manuscripts in their respective manila envelopes, and checked everything in the office to make sure that nothing was out of place. Turning off the lights and closing the office doors, Dougan went to the elevator, and picked the 28th floor, and when he got there, he stood, dazed and confused at the many doors under the warm lighting. All the doors looked the same—same glazed, walnut wood doors lined the halls, and Dougan sighed, his shoulders sagging as he mentally counted the amount of rooms he had to search. He had no card key aside from the one in his office floor. And not to mention, he had only gotten a copy of the card key for two days before he had to relinquish it because he was transferred—

He hadn’t been in this area of the building for so long—but he had long memorized it from a folded piece of paper in his wallet since his first day in Kinzan.

He went over to a room, and rang the buzzer. He really hoped he got the right room. As he looked closely at it, the door was a shade darker than the other doors. With its deep, rich red tones, this had to be the room, right?

The door opened just the slightest, and Dougan stepped back on instinct.

This man was blond, but with a tan, and had green-yellow eyes. Was he a new employee? Was Kinzan even hiring this month—?

“Yes?” asked the man, and Dougan jolted at the unknown voice.

“Um, yes. Is—is President Genjo here? Because I have to give him my manuscripts and he’s probably looking for it because it was overdue and—”

“He’s not here.”

Dougan’s instinctive smile fell, “Oh. I see. Um, thank you. I’ll just check it downstairs. Sorry for disturbing you.”

The man nodded weakly, and silently closed the door. Dougan took out the piece of paper from his wallet, and noted that the room in front of him was the marked place. “Maybe I read it wrong?”

* * *

Inside the room, Zakuro returned to the living room and sat beside Goku, and they played with Sanzo’s cat.

“Zakuro, who was it?”

Zakuro shrugged, “Some guy looking for Genjo Sanzo. Said he needed to submit his late paperwork. Hah. What a disgrace.”

Goku hummed as he laughed when Tama’s tail flicked by his face, “Well, whoever he is, he has to submit them another day. Sanzo’s out with Gojyo buying cigarettes.”

“Oh, is that why I’m here and you’re on guard duty?”

“Yup. Might as well make yourself comfortable. Say, Sanzo said that your work is going well. This calls for a celebration!”

“Eh?”

And so Goku talked to Zakuro with much enthusiasm, and they ended up playing with Tama and laughing over her chasing her tail—

“We’re back—oh. Having fun, eh?” Gojyo laughed, and struggled to remove his shoes as he balanced two huge paper bags in his arms. Behind him was Sanzo, calmly chewing on gum as he removed his shoes. “Hey, Goku. Your owner over here didn’t even lift a finger! Help me here!”

Goku laughed, and took the groceries from Gojyo’s hands. Rummaging in the bags as soon as he placed them in the kitchen, Goku gasped in surprise. “I thought you two were only going to get cigarette—oh! The huge churros! Sanzo, you remembered!”

“What’s up with churros? Moreover, when did you snuck that in there?”

“None of your business, shithead. Goku. Is it done yet?”

Goku tried and failed to stifle his grin, “It’ll be done when they’re—” The buzzer rang, and Goku leapt to his feet with a screech as he went over to the door and greeted Hakkai and Kanzeon. “Auntie! Hakkai! Ah, Grandpa Jiroushin, too. Is—ah. Homura, I didn’t know you’re coming, I only invited Jien and Yaone over and—oh, well. Come in, come in!”

“Hey, Monkey! Stop inviting people over like this is your damn place! How many did you bring over, you—”

“Never mind Sanzo, he hasn’t eaten yet. Dinner’s already prepared, Auntie!”

While Goku entertained the guests in Sanzo’s flat and Gojyo and Hakkai helped with the preparations, Zakuro sat still, his body rigid as people unknown to him entered the room. He had already met Hakkai and Homura, but the others were new to him.

Introductions were made, all done by Goku, and Zakuro had replied to all of them with a stiff smile and a bow.

“What happened to him? Are you sure he’s the same guy I patched up before?” Hakkai whispered to Gojyo as he helped him with the servings, and when the redhead nodded, Hakkai’s brows rose in amazement. “I suppose Sanzo did not brainwash him or anything?”

“Nah, he went into a deep transformation. Did a lot of reading the books in my room—he tried rearranging them, but failed, don’t be mad at me, it was his fault—and the next thing I knew, I got a call from Sanzo telling me to keep an even closer eye on the guy. Told him that Zakuro over there wanted to be a part of Kinzan—”

“He wanted to be a Kinzan writer—mmph!?”

“Ssh! Not so loud, ’Kai. Yeah. A fucking Kinzan writer. He wants to do the whole shebang, but Sanzo didn’t let him. Zakuro’s supposed to be dead, you know. So His Highness said to make him undergo trial if he could be a proper Kinzan writer.”

“Ah. Yes, he was. Is that why Ms. Kanzeon is here?”

“Yeah. Said she wanted to meet him in person. You know how she is. She knows everything. I wouldn’t doubt it if she already has an entire lifetime’s worth of backstory to change his identity just to make him work in Kinz—oh, heh heh. H-hi, Vice President. Um. Seafood Nicoise?”

“Thank you, Gojyo,” Kanzeon smiled as she took the plate of grilled salmon from Gojyo’s hands. “I haven’t thought about giving him a backstory, but thanks for the tip. I think I’ll be doing that in the future.”

Gojyo forced a laugh and apologized. Behind them, Sanzo hovered on the desserts, glaring daggers at everything, his lower lip jutted the slightest in an almost unnoticeable pout as he idly tapped his plate on his leg.

“Where’s my lava cake.”

“Behind the—here, lemme get it.” Goku reached out behind the large plate of Turkish delights, and gave Sanzo a rather large plate of the cake, “I made the biggest one for you. And an even bigger one for me!”

“...Thanks.” And Sanzo placed the empty plate on the countertop and took the cake from Goku’s hands. Upon taking a forkful of the cake, Sanzo nodded without a word, and dared not to look at Goku.

Goku bit his grin and giggled. He looked around and took the empty plate from the counter, covered his and Sanzo’s plate with him, and pecked him on the lips as quickly as he could, and ran away to the living room chortling before Sanzo could even react.

The small gathering caught up with each other. Kanzeon talked and got to know bits of Zakuro’s personality. Homura pestered Sanzo to no end. Hakkai and Yaone chatted about medicine, while Gojyo butted in from time to time about the causes of certain injuries. Jiroushin gave Goku timeless wisdom about taking everything in moderation, and that included eating too much chocolate, something that Goku brushed off with a laugh.

The party lasted until past midnight, with liquor and food flowing from the table. At one point, Kanzeon had declared war on her nephew through beer pong, a war that Sanzo had lost. He sulked in a corner muttering to himself as he ate more of the lava cake, and when he had drunk himself to sleep, Gojyo and Goku hauled Sanzo back to the bedroom. Homura and Gojyo took pictures of the sleeping blond, while Jiroushin and Hakkai tried to stop them.

In the parlor, Yaone and Jien listened intently to every word that Kanzeon said. Zakuro, too, had clung to her words, and once it was two in the morning, Hakkai called it a night, telling them that he had to be early for the hospital. Gojyo offered to assist him home, something that Kanzeon found amusing.

On their way to the foyer, the buzzer rang, and Zakuro, out of instinct, leapt up and opened the door before Hakkai did.

“Yes? Oh, it’s you.”

Outside, Dougan stood, with the same puzzled expression as he looked at a piece of paper in his hand, at the room number, then at Zakuro. “Are you sure this isn’t President Genjo’s room? Because the receptionist said—”

Zakuro didn’t get a chance to speak as he was shuffled out of the way. The door opened wide, and this time, Homura took the reins from Zakuro. Blocking the view of the room, he smiled, “Hello, Go Dougan. What brings you here at this time of night?”

“Ah, Mr. Homura. I just wanted to ask where President Genjo’s room is. I seem to have a problem with—”

“The president is not here,” Homura said with a stern voice. “You can go talk to him tomorrow. It’s late.”

“Oh. I’m sorry. Y-you’re right. It is rather late. I-I’ll talk to him tomorrow, then. I’m sorry for the disturbance.” Dougan bowed and briskly walked away, aware of Homura’s gaze searing on his back.

“What was that about? We could’ve made Sanzo get up and shit,” Gojyo commented, and Homura huffed, narrowed eyes still glaring at where Dougan had disappeared behind the elevator.

“I can’t have that man enter this room. Not now, not ever. He has a tendency to be... covertly volatile.”

* * *

The following morning was no different.

Dougan made numerous attempts throughout the whole day trying to find the CEO, but to no avail. When one of Sanzo’s secretaries noticed Dougan loitering a bit too long in front of the president’s office, she called for his attention and told him that the president was in a meeting. Dougan looked dejected.

He had then returned late in the afternoon, a few minutes before office hours were over, and discovered that he had inadvertently stumbled upon seeing Kinzan’s president, sleeping soundly on his chair.

He had burned that memory in his mind shortly before the president’s assistant came in with a tray of tea and a blanket on one arm. Dougan had, yet again, failed to give the manuscripts, and refused to hand them in to Goku, stating that it had to be the president. The brunet didn’t mind, and was completely unaware of Dougan glaring at him from behind as he roused the president from sleep.

Frothing at the mouth in envy at the way Goku had tried waking the president up—with a gentle touch and nudge on the shoulder—Dougan walked away without addressing Goku, leaving the assistant puzzled.

That was the last day of the week, and Dougan had to submit them to the president—personally. “I can’t do it when I saw the president sleeping. That would be rude of me. I can’t do it with people around either,” he muttered to himself as he punched on the elevator buttons. “Especially not that Son Goku. Gets in the way every time...!”

* * *

“Goku...! Remove it this instant...!”

“No—can’t... ah—do that...!”

“ _Fuck_. Stop—squirmi...—hn...!”

The sound of lips locking and flesh slapping against flesh rebounded from the walls as a blindfolded Goku rode on an equally blindfolded—and bed-bound—Sanzo, both panting and sweating as Goku slammed down and Sanzo lunged up. Tanned hands sought support on Sanzo’s heaving chest as he bounced, tongue darting out as the sounds of their heavy breathing reached his ears.

Arms quivering, Goku clawed at the pale chest, and leaned forward slowly, and blindly felt Sanzo’s chin with his nose. Pecking him on the chin, he sent a hot trail of sucks to the bobbing throat, and panted at Sanzo’s groans. This whole thing was entirely new, with both of them blindfolded, and with Goku’s leaking cock tied crudely with one of Sanzo’s silk sashes from his bathrobe, both felt their other senses heightened from the lack of sight.

Grinding on Sanzo’s thrusts, Goku sucked on the pale neck, leaving a trail of red splotches on the feverish skin—

“Goku, fucking untie me right n—...hn—”

A pliant tongue slipped past Sanzo’s mouth, and swallowed the halfhearted protests with a languid laugh. Goku squeezed the hardness inside him with all his might as he moved, fluid and rapid. Teeth clamped in blindness, Sanzo bit down and sucked on Goku’s shoulder, earning Sanzo a rough tug on his bedraggled, blond locks. Panting against the flushed shell of Sanzo’s ear, he ground his hips down and stayed there, clenching his insides, and waited long until Sanzo gasped and cursed, telling him to fucking _move_ —

Goku’s body snapped upright with a yelp as Sanzo plunged upwards in a series of quick and deep thrusts, growling and huffing against his clothed restraints. Curling his white-knuckled hands into fists, Sanzo stretched out his legs, head thrown back in a sweaty mess, and all reserve was shoved aside as drool slipped past his lips and felt something smooth prodding him—

“Fuck! Warn me, at least!”

“You don’t seem to mind—I—ah—already lubed it—”

As Goku gyrated on Sanzo’s cock, he carefully buried the vibrating dildo deep inside Sanzo, giggling when the blond had to stop completely and wait for it to sheathe inside and—

A steady string of muttered curses sang through Goku’s ears, and he grinned when he felt the body beneath him undulate and shiver. Gone were the streams of curses when Sanzo felt the vibrations wrack his insides. Breathless gasps slid from Sanzo’s parted mouth as Goku slammed down and the vibrator dug deeper inside.

Goku imagined what Sanzo might look like beneath him—brows furrowed, nostrils flaring with each sharp intake of breath, jaw clenching and slackening, with bits of dribble pooling from his mouth, lips red and swollen from bites and kisses, neck and shoulders sweaty and flushed red, with bites and hickeys littered all over the chiseled features—

Sanzo felt a tear slip from his blindfolded eyes and dribble drip from his mouth as he squirmed and fought against his restraints, uncaring for the lack of blood flow to his hands as he gasped Goku’s name in a breathless mantra, cursing all the while.

He didn’t need this damn blindfold, he could clearly see what the feisty brunet looked like in his mind’s eye—

Tanned skin riddled with numerous streaks of red running down from his torso to his inked stomach. Wiry muscles pulled taut as he leaned back and undulated his hickey-riddled body. Jaw clenched as hisses slipped from a mouth whispering only Sanzo’s name. Honeyed eyes darkening as they slid close behind damp lashes. Brows curling upwards as his chest shook with little jolts. Sweat trickling and sticking to hickory-hued locks—

And when a sharp lunge met Goku’s, Sanzo’s toes curled and he came, his guttural growls sending Goku mewling and clawing at the flushed chest beneath him. Hastily ripping off his blindfold, Goku’s hands quivered as he unwound the sash from his leaking erection—

“Make me come, Sanzo. Make me come—”

Growling, Sanzo lunged thrust after thrust, licking his lips at the feel of Goku’s slick insides and the dampness of the sweat trickling from his brow and nape—

“Blind—fold... Goku—”

Goku panted as he draped his weight on Sanzo’s heaving form, clammy hands shaking and fumbling to remove the blindfold from Sanzo’s eyes—

—the thoroughly disheveled blond locks, the unfocused, purple eyes, the sweat-slicked lashes, and the tear-stained cheeks made Goku’s mouth water and slide his hands through Sanzo’s messy hair—

And they kissed—rough and demanding—as Goku gyrated and ground his hips. Their teeth nibbled at every bit of flesh they could, and their mouths sucked on each other’s tongues—

With one languid thrust and a deep kiss, Goku came, with Sanzo grinning and swallowing their moans.

Their kisses became soft and unhurried, lips moving lazily with each labored breath, tongues lapping up on sweat from their necks and shoulders—

With a soft hum and a kiss to Goku’s ear, Sanzo’s eyes slid close, and he soon fell into a deep sleep. Goku, on the other hand, pecked him on the forehead, and removed Sanzo’s restraints from his arms, and the vibrator from his butt. Going over to the bathroom, Goku took a quick shower and returned to Sanzo, and washed him with a damp washcloth—

The buzzer rang, and Goku checked the time. It was well past nine—

The buzzer rang again. Clicking his tongue, Goku kissed Sanzo on the forehead and tucked him under the sheets. Running to the bathroom and muttering curses, he placed the vibrator upright on the counter and he put on a robe, and when the buzzer rang for a third time, he ran to the bedside table and took his gun, cocked it, and checked the door’s peephole.

“Dougan, hi!” Goku chirped, and he opened the door with a smile as he tucked the gun between the sash from behind. “What’s up?”

Dougan stood frozen in place, with folders and envelopes in hand, and when he found the voice to speak, it was a stammered string of words, “So uh, I-I thought—uh...”

“What?”

And Dougan spilled, about how he had been slacking off at work, and how he had been searching for Sanzo for the past few days, and how he had been trying to find his room. “The receptionist and some of the people on this floor keep telling me he’s in Room 2329, but I have never seen him. Last time I checked, Mr. Homura was here, and the time before that, there was a guy that I don’t know. And now it’s you.”

Goku looked baffled, his eyes darting left and right, and he scratched his head. There was a lot of reasons why that happened, and he knew it would take him time to tell everything, but Goku bit back his story, and smiled at the older man. “Well, Sanzo’s out cold for the meantime, haha...! M-maybe you could—”

“Could you accompany me to where he is? It’s really important!” Dougan urged, and his eyes widened when he looked at Goku’s appearance closely. “Um, are those—”

“Ah, these?” the brunet interrupted with a frozen smile as his fingertips brushed against the long lines of red welts down the exposed part of his torso. “They’re from Tama! The cat! Ah, here!” Goku then turned around and picked up the calico cat that had been pawing at Goku’s feet, “See? She’s a fussy one!”

Dougan forced his smile to widen, and his eyes tried to look away from the spot on the left side of Goku’s neck, where a hint of a purple mark bloomed in stark contrast against the teen’s bronzed skin. “I-I see. A cat... Right.”

“Right? Tried to claw herself at me earlier and I hit my shoulder on the coffee table in surprise. But I took care of it.” Goku cheered, all smiles and laughs as Dougan observed him closely.

“I see,” the pale man concluded, and he smiled, “that must have hurt you.”

“It did, but I’ll be fine—um. I can take those to Sanzo if you want. Your overdue work will drag on if you don’t—”

Dougan almost took a step back as Goku held out his hand, “You will?”

“Of course I will, silly! I’m his assistant, after all—”

“Goku?”

Goku craned his neck and smiled at someone from out of Dougan’s view, “Ah, I thought you were asleep? Oh, Dougan, I can hand them to him now.”

Dougan looked confused for a moment, and when he saw a familiar face standing behind Goku, with his hair sticking out from all places and looking flushed—

“You took my robe, idiot. Now I have to drag myself around in a fucking bed sheet.”

“Like I said, I thought you were sleeping. I’ll wash the sheets if you want,” Goku suggested with a grin. He returned his attention to Dougan and was surprised to see him gone. By his feet were the envelopes and folders Dougan had been carrying for the past few days, and Goku poked his head from the door and checked for any traces of the man, and he did not see even a shadow left behind. “That’s odd...”

“Who was it?” Sanzo muttered, his voice hoarse as he yawned.

“Dougan. He said he tried going over here many times but can’t find you,” Goku explained as he picked up the manuscripts left on the floor. “Hey, Sanzo. Now that you’re awake, we can eat! I’m hungry. I want mizutake!”

“There you are again deciding things for yourself. This is my place, idiot. I want smoked salmon while you’re making mizutake.”

“Sanzo, you just countered yourself with that. How about—” Goku closed the door, muffling their conversation in the safety of Sanzo’s flat.

At the very corner of the now silent hallway, Dougan gritted his teeth, glaring intensely at the room that Sanzo occupied.

“So that is President Genjo’s room. I was right. But why is Son Goku there, and in a bathrobe, no less?”

Hoping to get more answers, he stood by for a bit longer, and when he realized that no one would come out from the room, he took the elevator going down, and stormed out of Kinzan, biting his thumb until it bled.


	10. Chapter 10

When executive editor Goujun had berated Dougan in his office for the fifth time for tardiness, slacking off in submitting manuscripts, absenting from meetings, and disappearing during an hour before noon, Dougan could only hang his head in shame.

“What’s happening to you? You’re not like this. Homura may have gotten you off the hook twice, but that will not work on me.”

Today had been dreadful at best for Dougan. From having a huge chunk of snow falling on his head, to coming in late at Kinzan, to trying to sneak off to Houtou House, to ‘Dragon King’ Goujun catching him trying to enter an ongoing staff meeting from the back door—

He whimpered as he blocked out the editor-in-chief’s words from his ears, and opted to cringe and jolt every time those pale fingers tapped on the table. The editor-in-chief was already frightening enough with his long and braided, silver hair, golden, almost slitted eyes, pale skin, and deep voice. The only contrast between him and the president was the editor-in-chief rarely yelled. The man called the Dragon King was calm in nature, and slow to anger. Hailed a man of few words, Goujun merely stared Dougan down with slitted eyes, and said nothing.

Goujun was rumored to have a paralyzing stare when dealing with obstinate people—and now Dougan knew that it was very true as he refused to look at the man in the eye.

When Homura had knocked and entered Goujun’s office, he greeted the men, only to be met with Goujun’s disapproving tut, and Dougan’s repressed sigh. Dougan then hastily excused himself as soon as Homura entered the room, and did not fail to notice the look of indifference that flashed through Homura’s eyes.

When Dougan returned to his cubicle, he avoided everyone’s stares. Being called to the Dragon King’s office was usually never a good thing. Dougan sighed, and rearranged his glasses as he tried to tame the baby hairs sticking out from his braid.

He had started with a promising career in Kinzan—

“I can’t falter now,” he mumbled, and he gulped as he noticed the marked date on his little calendar on his desk. Wiping his palms on his slacks, he grabbed his coat and stood up, and left the office, leaving a trail of muttered whispers and disbelieving looks behind.

When Goujun and Homura went down to the Fiction department to check on Dougan, the people there told him that Dougan had left.

Irritated at Dougan’s constant defiance, Goujun dragged Homura with him, and they went straight to the president to complain. And when they notified Sanzo, he agreed that Dougan had been negligent of his duties lately.

Goujun snorted in response, crossing his arms as he tutted, “President, we haven’t had an employee like this since that fiasco with Kami. I highly suggest we terminate him immediately, and replace him with one of the more deserving people in the field. Either that, or put up another ad.”

Sanzo clicked his tongue and cursed as he rubbed his temples. Glancing at his monitor screen decorated with sticky notes and rushed scrawls, he opened his drawer, and took two tablets and washed them down with a cup of tea, all the while ignoring the sudden spike of ire rushing through him. “I am trying not to strangle anyone right now,” Sanzo hissed as soon as he set the empty cup down. “I will think about what to do with him. Just—return to your offices for the meantime.”

“Yes, sir,” Goujun replied with a salute, and made his way for the door. Homura, meanwhile, stood firm in front of the president, both of them having a silent conversation with their eyes.

“Goujun, you go ahead,” Homura called out without looking at the man, “I have to talk to the president.”

Goujun shrugged, and left without a word as he closed the door behind him.

Homura smiled, tightlipped, at the president, “I see our little pet is not around.”

“What do you mean ’our’? Shut the fuck up,” Sanzo snapped. “If you came here just to riddle me with shitty questions, then you’ll be disappointed because I won’t answer shit.”

Homura’s lips twitched, the smile straining to remain in place, “I am just wondering why he is off from work today when he lives in the premises. It is not like him to leave you alone on a cold, winter day.”

The blond snorted, tapped his fingers restlessly on the armchair, and kept glancing at his watch. Without looking at him, the president pursed his lips, brows furrowing as he spoke. “Goku gets bouts of fevers during this time of the year, it’s why he hates the cold. I got him a few days off.” When Homura opened his mouth and raised a finger, Sanzo interrupted, “And yes, I forbid you to visit him. If you try to do as such, I will know it immediately and I’ll kick you out. Immediately.”

A wry grin crept to the editor’s face, and he laughed, “Well, aren’t you protective.”

“Want me to shoot you in the head?”

Homura chortled, “If you can, though it will be a waste of time. Anyway, I want to talk about Go Dougan’s odd behavior—”

“I thought we just talked about that.”

“We did, but still. Be wary of him.”

“Feh. Look who’s talking. Weren’t you the one who convinced me to let him to the job? And now you suspect him?”

“President, I just want to say—that his job of going into Houtou is irrelevant. What I’m concerned about is his obvious hatred for Son Goku. Don’t pretend you don’t know it because I know that you know very well what I’m talking about.”

Homura watched as Sanzo bit the inside of his cheek and stared listlessly at the monitor, and when the blond spoke, Homura almost huffed.

“I’ll check on him, then. Here,” Sanzo whipped out his gold card and tossed it to Homura’s hands, “go buy something to fill his appetite.” He stood up and put on his coat, his back facing the editor, and paused.

When Homura noticed that the man didn’t move an inch for a few moments, he looked at his boss with a raised eyebrow, and opted to voice his thoughts.

“Are... you forgetting something, Konzen?”

Sanzo jolted with a start, and muttered curses as he pulled his suit straight with a bit too much force, and Homura bit back a laugh as Sanzo stormed off and did not spare him a glance. The heterochromatic-eyed man grinned as he noticed Sanzo‘s pink-dusted cheeks on his way out, and Homura remembered Son Goku always smoothing out the president’s suit whenever the man donned it on.

Humming, Homura went around the table, and smiled upon seeing the notes stuck on Sanzo’s monitor, all written by Goku.

“‘Your medicine is in your drawer on the right. Drink it with gingerroot tea (not coffee) and don’t chew your medicine.’ ‘Stamp’s on the left, inside your drawer.’ ‘Manuscripts are on the left on your desk. The one with the green sticky note. Already arranged them by author.’ ‘Already asked the lunchlady to bring you your food exactly how you want it and when you want it. I told them not to bring you any bowl of mayonnaise in my absence. If you do so, I told them to call Auntie over to your office.’ ‘Bring Gojyo if you’re going outside.’ ‘Sanzo, take care, okay?’”

Homura smiled as he read some of the notes, and saw more of them stuck on other parts of the president’s desk, all written with the assistant’s rushed handwriting. He sighed, a small laugh slipping past his lips as he looked at the note-littered desk.

“I wonder how he’ll function without the little ball of sunshine,” Homura laughed, and went off on his errand.

* * *

 

When Sanzo heard no response from his assistant after ringing the buzzer for the umpteenth time, he took out his card key and tapped it above the handle—a privilege that he was the CEO, as he had the master key to all of the rooms in the building.

Entering Goku’s flat, Sanzo was met with the sights of goldenrod-hued walls, small, baroque paintings of food and flowers adorned the inviting walls, and if Sanzo inhaled enough, he would smell the scent of rosemary and lemon—a constant in Goku’s room, as it were. He took off his shoes at the entryway, and slipped on the soft, white slippers by the shoe stand.

“Monkey?” he called, and when he heard no reply, he entered the room, and went straight to the kitchen, and found it spotless and sparkling. Clicking his tongue, he called for Goku again as he made his way towards the bedroom.

Painted with the same goldenrod-hued walls, Goku’s room was bathed in a soft, low light from the bedside lamp. And there on the bed too big for a single person to sleep on, Sanzo found a lumpy ball under a thick comforter, with two, rounded, fluffy, brown ears sticking from the covers.

Sighing, he went over to the curled up lump on the bed, and tapped it.

His little assistant have always had the habit of wearing onesies once winter arrived, and especially now that he had a fever.

“Goku,” he breathed, and clicked his tongue when he felt Goku’s fever through the sheets. He sat on the bed, his thumb soothing his slumbering assistant with light rubs. Leaning to the brunet, he placed his forehead to the sweat-slicked temple, and hissed at the teen’s high temperature. Pecking him on the head through the bear onesie, he sat upright and chucked his slippers from his feet. His shoulders then stiffened when two, fluffy arms encircled around his shoulder and waist, and he huffed when a mop of messy, brown hair tickled his ear and cheek. “I thought you were sleeping?” Sanzo droned, and patted Goku on the head. “You’re burning up, go back to sleep. Have you taken your medicine?”

“Uh hm. You? Did you take yours with the tea?” Goku croaked out, his voice muffled on Sanzo’s shoulder.

“Yeah, now lie down and sleep. I’ll wake you up when the food’s here. Odd Eyes will bring it. It’s only past noon, so you get to eat lunch.”

The embrace tightened, and Sanzo sighed as he listened to Goku’s aimless chatter about his scattered dreams since this morning—a normal occurrence for someone with fever, Sanzo supposed. By the time Goku had finished with the senseless storytelling, the buzzer rang, and Sanzo had to peel his whining and flushed patient from his back and forced him to lie down. Ignoring Goku’s muffled and incomprehensible complaints from the pillow, Sanzo made his way to the door and opened it to see Homura handing him a bag of food.

“Put that shit on the table,” Sanzo commanded, his voice clipped as he glared at the smiling editor.

“You now permit me to see Son Goku?”

There was a pregnant pause, with Sanzo opening and closing his mouth, and settled in a frown as he snatched the proffered bag from Homura’s hand. “On second thought, I’ll bring this shit to the kitchen. You go back to work.” And Sanzo slammed the door on the grinning man’s face.

“Yes, thank you and you’re welcome, sir!” Homura called, and waited for a response. Hearing none, he shrugged, and returned to Floor 22, biting back a grin all the while.

Inside Goku’s flat, Sanzo struggled to feed the whimpering teen on the bed. With sheer patience that the blond rarely displayed to anyone, he wiped the bits of soup and corn from Goku’s lips with a washcloth, all the while alternating between wiping off the snivel that threatened to drip down Goku’s nose, and the beads of sweat from his forehead and neck. At one point, Sanzo tried to unzip the ridiculous and one-size-too-large of a bear onesie from the brunet—to lower the temperature a bit, Sanzo reasoned—only to be stopped by Goku’s feint cries and seemingly senseless babble. The blond didn’t attempt a second try, and opted to cradle Goku’s head between his shoulder and neck as he fed him.

“Don’t throw it up, don’t throw it up,” he muttered in a mantra as the smaller man coughed. When Goku shook his head, Sanzo heaved a sigh and rubbed his back firmly, and urged him to take a sip of warm water. “With all that food you eat every day, one might think you’ll never get sick,” he grumbled, clicking his tongue when he heard nothing but Goku rasping with every ragged breath and trying not to cough. Sanzo closed his eyes at the sight, his eyes furrowed as he kissed him on the brow, “I know I like you silent and all, but not like this.”

Sanzo felt Goku’s shoulders shake, and heard him croak a little laugh, and Sanzo cracked a little grin. “Get well soon, idiot. That lunchlady’s tea was lukewarm.”

Sanzo felt a quiet tug of a smile and a stream of hot breath on the crook of his neck, and the blond held him closer and kept running his hand down the feverish back in reply. “Go to sleep, I’ll be back in a few hours.” He felt Goku nod, and Sanzo bit back a laugh when the onesie’s fur tickled his chin. He laid Goku back on the bed and tucked him under the covers, and gave him one last peck on the brow before leaving the room with the tray of half-eaten soup in tow. 

When Sanzo had finished washing the dishes and the washcloth, he checked on Goku one more time. “I’ll be back in a few hours, okay?” He repeated, and heard a muffled grunt. Taking that as a yes, he went over to Goku, and kissed him on the lips, and did not move until the brunet reciprocated with a bit of a pucker. “Just take a rest, idiot. No fiddling with your phone,” he warned, and Goku cracked an eye open and gave him a faint smile and a light brushing of fingers against the blond locks.

“I won’t,” Goku rasped as he smoothed his hand on the pale man’s face. “Hurry up and do your work so you can return here.”

Sanzo snorted, and kissed the too warm palm. He ruffled Goku’s hair, and with one last peck on the forehead, Sanzo left with a ghost of a smile.

He then left Goku’s flat—

—and returned to his own to check on little Tama, who sat patiently by the entranceway, and greeted her owner with a string of mews and constant circling of her body around Sanzo’s leg. He went to the kitchen, snapping his fingers along as Tama followed him, and he fed her. With a pat on her head as she ate on her bowl, Sanzo went over to the cabinet where the marbled, green and silver-coated urn was placed. He properly sat in front of it with his legs together and his feet tucked under his behind, and Sanzo looked at the picture where his foster father smiled and cradled a young Sanzo.

With palms placed on his lap, Sanzo bowed and smiled.

“Hello, Father. I just returned from feeding my pets. It’s hard work at most, but I manage. I must say, I’m starting to hate winter because of the monkey’s fever. This is the only time when he gets the stupid fever and colds and flu and—” Sanzo paused, and sighed roughly, “What I meant to say is that taking care of Goku is a pain. I know, I can just call someone over to check on him, but I can’t do that. I’ll get fuc—really restless and I don’t like that shi—...thing. I don’t like that thing. It has to be me or I’ll go insane. You... haven’t met him, have you? He’s a handful. Too loud, too much of a glutton, too energetic. Heh, I’m pretty sure if you had met him, you’d dote over him like there’s no tomorrow. He’d adorn your head with flowers until you sneeze. He did that to me often when we were kids. Thinking about it, you two would be both stupidly silly if you had met—I’d have to take care of both of you, then, from your frolicking around.”

Sanzo casted his eyes down, looking pensive, and laughed to the empty room, “Even I have become ridiculous. You are gone, Father, and yet—here I am, talking to a picture and an urn. …Father, the only one who kept me sane after you died—was him. I came close to loathing winter since the—…since Aunt gave Goku to me and found out that he kept getting fevers during this time of year. Bothersome, right? But I still took care of him, and after some time I—well, he grew on me, I guess. That monkey of mine should always be a boundless energy—not… bedridden and silent and ill. I can never get used to it. It reminds me of seeing you dying on your bed all over again—without the ridiculous onesie he wears whenever he’s sick. It’s comical, really, but it’s Goku, I expect nothing less than comical.”

He closed his eyes and held a sigh, and bowed low to the floor, “Father, this is all I have to say right now. Thank you for listening.” He sat straight, and looked at Koumyou’s picture, all closed eyes and smiles as he held little Sanzo in his arms. Sanzo smiled, and his shoulders drooped free from the tension from minutes prior, “I know, I know. Why not give you offerings and incense, right. I’ll eat them in the end, anyway, and you know how much I hate the smell of incense. You’ll have to make do with me talk to you on moments like this, Father.”

Sanzo glanced at this watch, and bowed once more, “I’ll be taking my leave for now. Work starts in a few minutes. I’ll talk to you later. For the meantime—” He heard meowing from behind, and saw Tama pattering over to him with small, quick steps, and she rubbed her face on Sanzo’s knee. “For the meantime, Tama will keep you company. Cat, be a good pet to Father, all right?” The cat meowed, and Sanzo stood up and left the flat with a small smile.

Upon going to the elevator and pressing the button, the door opened and revealed Dougan clutching a bunch of stacked folders brimming with papers inside. Raising one eyebrow, Sanzo’s mood immediately turned sour.

“You. Where have you been? No wait, shut it and don’t answer. Follow me.” Sanzo entered the elevator roughly pressed the close button and tapped the button for the 23rd floor. Not sparing the fumbling Dougan a glance, the short ride was filled with tension at most, and Sanzo ignored Dougan’s futile attempts at trying to make conversation.

When they exited the elevator and made their way to Sanzo’s office, Dougan had his head bowed throughout, and drowned the sounds of harsh whispering in their wake. Sanzo paid them no heed, and even stopped to talk to one of his secretaries about an annual gathering in a few months. Dougan felt his fingers slipping from his hold on the folders in his arms, but made no sound of complaint. From his left, Dougan noticed an empty cubicle behind legal editor Jien’s, the small space devoid of a coat or any paper and pen in sight.

He tried asking the president about it, although upon seeing the president in deep discussion with his female secretary, Dougan remained silent, and ignored the way the secretary kept glancing at Dougan’s wobbly form.

“—if that is all, then it’s good. Cooperate with Yaone and her staff. They do the promotions and handle all things retail. You,” Sanzo gave Dougan a sidelong glare, “follow me, and leave the door ajar.”

Dougan gulped, glanced at the secretary giving him a sharp stare, and hastily went after the CEO. Pushing his foot at the door, he balanced the folders in his arms, and waited for further instructions—

“What, you’re going to carry that shitload for the rest of the day? Place them over here and tell me what the fuck you’ve been up to lately. Because I am not the slightest bit amused with your shit.” Sanzo leaned back on his desk with his arms crossed as he watched Dougan walk over to the desk to place the folder stacks in a pile—“Not there on the left, that’s where the monkey’s work is. Put them on the right.”

Dougan fought back a whimper, and placed them as neatly as he could on the right side of the desk.

“Good, now stand over here and tell me why you’re acting like shit lately.”

Wiping his sweaty palms on the back of his slacks, Dougan stood in front of the silently fuming president. Choking back a stammer, he tried and failed at looking at the president in the eye, “I’ve been neglecting my work lately, President Genjo—”

“No shit.”

“—and I apologize,” Dougan muttered, opting to look at the floor and scratch at his arm, and only then had he noticed that he had not even taken off his coat. He gulped, and glanced at Sanzo’s disinterested stare, and looked away once more. “I-I’ll never do it again…!”

Silence hung heavily in the air. At one point, Sanzo noticed a few pairs of eyes peering through door and the glass panes of his office, but said nothing. Tapping his forefinger on his elbow, he thought about his next words with care, and forced himself not to pull out a cigarette and smoke to his heart’s content.

“You say you’ll never do it again, but I heard from old man Jikaku—your editor-in-chief, and only the oldest man in this building—from Homura, _and_ from Goujun, that they have been told the same thing. Odd Eyes left you off the hook twice by talking it over with the old man. The least you could do is pay some fucking respect to the elderly by not being a pain in the fucking shithole. You not giving a shit to the old man’s warnings means you don’t give a shit to this place. If you want to, you can fucking leave right now—”

“No, please!” Dougan begged, his knees planted on the floor as he bowed to the unfazed employer. “I’ll do things right, sir! I’ll—”

“Fuck off,” Sanzo huffed with a dismissive wave. “Jien! Get Gojyo over here and have him drag this thing away from the building—”

“No, no! President Genjo, don’t do this! I’m only doing what you asked me to—to search information about Houtou, I swear!”

“Feh, did I also tell you to slack off? You’re not the only one with the jobs piling up on a daily basis, Dougan. If you can’t balance your work, you’re not cut to be in Kinzan,” Sanzo cursed as he took out and lit a cigarette—his first for the day—“You’re making my work shittier than usual.”

Jien knocked and peeked from the door, and when he was granted permission, he entered and grabbed Dougan by the armpits, and struggled when Dougan fought back and tried biting Jien’s fingers off—“I-I know who Houtou’s president is! Chief Ni Jien Yi…!”

Jien and Sanzo stilled, eyes wide at Dougan’s revelation. Purple eyes met blue ones, and Jien stared at the blond with wide-eyed in confusion.

“I know Houtou’s president. I finally found his real identity, President Genjo. I did what you asked of me,” Dougan croaked, defeated, as he hung limply from Jien’s hold.

It had taken a while before the blond could respond, his lips formed in a slight slack, at a loss of words. “From where did you hear that name…?” Sanzo breathed after a few moments of silence, and his cigarette was left perched and untouched in between his index and middle finger, unaware about the bits of ash that fell to the floor.

“I… researched about it, sir. Did my own investigation and all…”

Sanzo’s brow raised at the muttered confession, and without averting his gaze from Dougan, he ordered, “Get Homura over here, Jien—and close the door on your way out.”

* * *

 

When Goku woke up to a cold hand running over his synthetic fur-covered arm, he ignored the gesture, and buried his face deeper on the pillow warmed by his fever. When he felt a hand smoothing and tucking away his messy strands of hair behind his ear, he let out a low hum, and smiled when that hand smoothed over his cheek, and he whispered Sanzo’s name.

“Hmm—hi, Sanzo… Work’s done…?” Goku mumbled, his voice a faint rumble and a scratchy hoarse to Sanzo’s ears.

“Yeah. And you missed a lot of shit.” Sanzo huffed, his voice low, and seeped like a dulcet tune to Goku’s currently oversensitive hearing.

The brunet took a deep breath and let the pale, cold hand thread itself in his wayward locks, and he mustered a smile, half-hidden on the pillow too big for his head, “Good thing I’m absent, then.” He laughed, and winced upon pushing his lungs a bit too far as he wracked a cough.

“Sit up, you need your food and medicine. You’re going to need it after my news,” Sanzo directed with the same, raspy tone. When Sanzo had finished feeding Goku with potato potage soup, a roasted mutton leg, and a small kettle of green tea, Goku flashed him a wide grin, and Sanzo tutted as he wiped a stray bit of parsley from the corners of the teen’s mouth.

“Now I’m done. Tell me what happened, Sanzo, tell me,” the brunet cheered with much enthusiasm he could muster under his fever-laden self. Sanzo noted the familiar sparkle returning to those golden eyes, and he heaved a silent sigh of relief.

“That new friend of yours, that Dougan—he said he ‘investigated’ Houtou, and found out about our suspect of a shadow president.”

“How?” Goku asked, confused of it all as he downed his medicine with his last cup of tea, wincing at the bitter aftertaste. “That information wasn’t supposed to be revealed yet, and you haven’t told him about the target.”

“I know. Homura said he didn’t tell him anything, and he knows better than to lie to my face. The Sha brothers are out of the question—Jien, especially. I’ve never seen them talk even once. Dougan said he ‘asked around’. Pretty damn fucking sure you can’t just ask fucking Google or ask random passersby on the streets about a serial killer disguising himself as a ‘respectable’ puppet president of a well-known publishing house at a tip of the hat. That’s just not fucking possible. He’s lying through his teeth and I know it. But I can’t call Dougan out just like that—I need proof.”

“In that case, how about—nah. It can’t be. Zakuro doesn’t even know him. Remember that time when I invited everyone over to your place? Hours before, Zakuro opened the door—not fully, just enough to take a peek—and saw Dougan. But that happened in just seconds, it can’t be that—Sanzo? Where are you going?”

“To ask that dipshit mooching of that undine’s food supply. Goku, if someone rings the buzzer five times nonstop, that’s me. If it’s not, then get your gun ready and shoot the fucker in the face.”

“But what if it’s Auntie?” Goku blanched at the thought, and glanced at his Curve lying on the bedside drawer.

“Then tell her there’s a worm trying to crawl its way in. She’ll know what it means.” Sanzo came up to Goku and ruffled his hair, “Take care while I’m out.” Goku nodded, and Sanzo turned around and left, aware of the pair of sad-looking eyes trailing after him.

When Sanzo went to the 29th floor, he banged on Gojyo’s door and called for his bodyguard. And when the door opened, the blond went straight to where Zakuro sat in the living room, hunched over a book. Kinzan’s president interrogated Zakuro, with Gojyo hovering just behind the tanned blond the whole time.

Zakuro stated no such thing to Dougan, claiming that he didn’t even remember what he looked like, except that he had commented to Goku about the man “being a disgrace for trying to submit late paperwork after office hours.”

“What details can you remember the most?” Sanzo urged with a clipped tone and bulging eyes, and Zakuro answered immediately with a shrug, unfazed as he closed the book in his hand.

“He wore glasses and had black hair. Too pale. Wore a too big of a beige jacket, I think. Didn’t leave an impression on me, to be honest. He was like a waif, sweating all over the place when I first saw him.”

“And you’re sure that you did not tell him anything about Houtou?”

“Yes, Genjo Sanzo. I’m quite sure. I didn’t even show him my full face when he first knocked on the door.”

Sanzo bit the inside of his lip and looked away, muttering and cursing under his breath, and Gojyo, impatient and confused, scratched his ear in irritation.

“Hey, boss. The info’s not easily accessed, right? The only logical shit he might have pulled off is him going straight into Houtou.”

“I’ve thought about that,” Sanzo hissed, his fingers tugging his blond locks as he paced around the room. “But it makes no sense. If he had gotten into Houtou, we would’ve been thrown into war with them by now.”

“But Sanzo,” Gojyo interrupted, and tried to come up with a decent retort and a question hanging from his lips, “maybe little ol’ Glasses here didn’t introduce himself as someone from here? Maybe, just maybe—he kept slacking off because… he’s probably going over there all the time! Yeah, that’s it. That’s most likely the answer. You told us that he’s been all over the place lately, and Goujun caught him trying to sneak in the middle of a meeting, from the back, in the afternoon, from what I heard from my bro. What if he’s been trying to get inside Houtou and we have no knowledge of it?”

* * *

 

Dougan sat hunched on his bed, and rubbed at his swollen, tear-stained eyes as he glared at his laptop screen. Today had been a train-wreck of a day. From being scolded by Goujun, to being a hair’s breadth away from being fired on the spot—and by the president, no less. It was all too much for Dougan to bear—

—but he clutched on, and had fought bravely with no punches thrown. He had answered truthfully, as what President Genjo had expected from him, and Dougan surmised that the president had been worried for his sake, commenting that—

“‘You should stay still until I tell you to move where you’re supposed to go,’ was it? Ah, President Genjo is looking out for me!” he uttered with much joy as he held a pillow to his face, letting a wide smile erupt from his lips. “President Genjo will come through for me—he’ll someday realize that I should be the one by his side. Haha!”

* * *

 

Gojyo gaped and raised his forefinger, and looked away from his employer’s glare for a moment before cracking a forced laugh, shifting his sights from the skull-burning glare. “I-it’s a joke! Haha! Get it? ‘You won’t be getting any sleep’? Haha! ...okay, I’m shutting up now.”

Sanzo said nothing, and merely crossed his arms.

“Um. Right. Uh, you might want to wake Goku up if you don’t want to leave him alone. I, uh, I was hoping that the little monkey was going to answer the door. Funny thing is, I went to your room and heard no answer whatsoever and so I thought that maybe Goku knew and so I went here and now you’re here and it makes sense now since you’re babysitting Goku and—”

“Get to the fucking point.”

“Right,” Gojyo then cleared his throat and looked intently at a spot above the blond’s wavy bedhead. “Right. Well—on my way home from my nightly rounds around the perimeter—”

“The perimeter being the casinos and bars, right.”

“—our goody-two-shoes editor went inside a seedy place, and Sanzo, you have to fucking see it to fucking believe it.”

* * *

 

When a grinning Gojyo urged an irate Sanzo and a whimpering, flushed Goku to wear shades and led them to an empty, yet dirty table far from the smell of sweat and liquor and overpowering perfumes all over, Sanzo almost threw a nasty fit, if it weren’t for his assistant clutching and sticking onto him like a lifeline since they exited Kinzan.

“Goku, don’t you dare throw up on my coat—here. Don’t touch—” Goku pulled up his hoodie and hid his face as much as he could from the dizzying lights and sudden flashes, and leaned his entire weight on the blond, clutching his arms around Sanzo’s waist. “—anything. Ugh. Gojyo! You better not be toying with me or I’ll shoot you in the nuts for dragging me all the way here at fucking 2am. A strip club? Really? A fucking strip club?”

They sat away from the noise of the crowd, next to an occupied blue and black booth seat. Gojyo tapped Sanzo’s shoulder and leaned in, stage-whispering, “Yes. A fucking strip club. This is the seedy place I was talking about. Keep your glasses on, Your Highness. Target’s next to us.”

Sanzo grumbled a faint and begrudging harrumph as he scooted Goku over to him, his ears drowning in the deafening beat of the bass. Never mind that there were waitresses strutting around in skimpy and frilly fabrics that barely registered as clothes. Never mind that on the stage were several naked women dancing along to some tune that Sanzo considered trash—

—because sitting in a booth seat a few feet from them was one of Kinzan’s Buddhist fiction editors, Go Dougan, hunched over in a deep discussion with Houtou House’s Acting President, Ni Jien Yi—

“What. The fuck. Is Dougan doing here. Talking with fucking Ukoku?” Sanzo snapped his head to Gojyo, who shrugged and grinned. And if Sanzo could see those eyes blocked by the shades, he’d say that Gojyo was practically brimming with mischief upon the discovery.

“I dunno, Boss. I was here at 11, after doing the nightly rounds, and then I saw that. There was a woman with Ukoku earlier when I left. A short-haired one. Pity, she could be hotter if she didn’t have that sour look on her face the whole time. Then again, with sleazebags like Ukoku, who wouldn’t look sour-faced? I called you on your phone, you know. You didn’t answer the whole time, so I rushed back and thought you died over a bottle of mayo or something. Didn’t know you became a nanny to the little chimp here! Haha!”

Sanzo glared Gojyo down, and rubbed small circles on the small of Goku’s back as he did so. The thermal sweaters and the fluffy coat that the teen wore seemed to do little to alleviate his fever. And Sanzo bit back a curse, “If this were under normal circumstances, I would have chopped your hair off with my bullets by now.” The redhead guffawed, and Sanzo’s eye twitched in annoyance. Deciding that the conversation would lead nowhere, he raised his voice, trying to compete with the music. “Gojyo, they’ve been here for a long time, yeah? Did you get a hint on what they’re talking about?”

Gojyo’s grin faltered and shook his head, and cupped his mouth to Sanzo’s ear, “Dougan had been doing all the talking the whole time since I left. I never once saw Ukoku’s lips move. Maybe now he’ll talk or something.”

“‘So the people in the coffeehouse you work in treat you unfairly because of your closeness with your employer?’”

“Goku, what are you talking about?” Sanzo scoffed at his assistant’s whispered words to his ear, and noticed the brunet staring intently at the booth next to them, and Sanzo’s lips curled in a smirk. “Oh. Finally putting that lip-reading you learned from Hakkai to good use?”

Gojyo craned his neck to the flushed teen, and he slapped Goku heartily on the back, making him cough. He went behind the two and hunched over them. “Okay, squirt. Show us what you learned from Hakkai.”

Goku giggled and nodded, snuggling his cheek to Sanzo’s left shoulder, his sights now set on Dougan’s lips. “‘Yes, I guess they are jealous with the closeness my employer and I have. He is a very unique individual,’ Dougan said.” Goku noticed Dougan pause, and covered his mouth, and Goku pouted, leaning close to Sanzo’s ear, “I can’t read them like that.”

“I know, Monkey. Just look at them for clues.”

“Wait, Dougan has another job other than in Kinzan? Damn. Talk about a hard worker,” Gojyo praised with wide-eyed awe. “What more did he say?”

“I can’t see it if he’s hiding his mouth,” Goku rasped—

Just then, a buxom woman half-covered in body glitter blocked their view. Jutting her hips to one side and leaning over the table, she not-so-subtly squished her chest closer with her elbows and winked at a scowling Sanzo, “Why, Gojyo. You brought back a handsome one. Hello, would you care for a drink?”

Sanzo grimaced at the proffered hand inching close to his personal space, and he leaned back, taking Goku—who still clung to his side—with him as well, “Fuck off, bimbo. If all I wanted was to see some sad pair of tits for entertainment, I would have stayed at home to look at my ballsacks, instead. At least they don’t fuck my eyes blind with shitty glitter.”

Goku immediately slapped a hand to his mouth to choke back his bubbling laughter, his fatigue and nausea temporarily forgotten from the sudden outburst. And the woman went pale, and soon turned a shade darker than her firetruck-red lipstain and opened her mouth with the beginnings of cursing Sanzo out—

“Hey, hey. Take it easy on the lady, boss. Heh, sorry, toots. The guy’s grouchy—whoa. Easy on the coat, hon. That’s new.” Gojyo flashed a smile to the woman who grabbed his collar, and the woman glared at Sanzo, who glared back just as intensely as she did, and she backed down, and pointed at him as she asked Gojyo.

“Is he new here?”

“Uh,” Gojyo stole a glance at Sanzo’s unfazed expression, then back at the offended woman, “yeah. He’s uh, new.” He then leaned over to Sanzo and looked at him with wide, watery eyes, “Please don’t tell this to Hakkai, guys. He’ll castrate me this time for sur—”

“Too late. Already sent him what happened,” Goku said in a lilting tone, and tucked away his phone and scooted closer to Sanzo before Gojyo could even snatch it away.

“Hey, dick for brains. While you were eye-fucking with sad sacks over there, our target got away. Nice going, shithead.”

“Eh? Ah! Fuck! Uh, hey, sweet cheeks, uh—how about putting this on my tab? I already paid my last yen earlier. I’ll pay you soon after two days. Whaddya say, love?” Gojyo grinned and winked at the stripper, who harrumphed and hastily went down from the table, and didn’t spare the redhead a glance. “Sweet cheeks? Uh, babe? ...Fuck. Hey. Guys. Sanzo, Goku! Wait up! Fuuuck!”

Gojyo scratched his head in annoyance, looked at the booth seat, and sure enough, Ukoku and Dougan were not there anymore.

Somewhere during the time when the woman had talked to them, their targets had made their exit.

Stomping, Gojyo hollered and ran after the CEO and his assistant, muttering apologies in his wake as he bumped and shoved the dancers aside—

He found Sanzo still holding Goku close, and watched as Sanzo hailed a taxi, fighting the cold all the while by rubbing his knees every few seconds—“Hey, guys! I’m sorry—”

“Gojyo. Talk to me one more time tonight and I’ll bury you in the snow until you get hypothermia, I fucking swear. Get in the trunk for all I care. Or—you know what, never mind.” And Sanzo ushered a coughing Goku inside the cab and he followed, slamming the door on Gojyo’s face. He ignored the livid man trying to open the locked doors. Failing to open them, Gojyo banged on the taxi’s window instead, yelling all the while. Sanzo merely snorted and shrugged. “Old man, step on it, please.”

“Hey, Sanzo! Don’t fucking leave—Sanzo!”

The taxi drove away, leaving Gojyo to choke on dust.

* * *

 

When Dougan was called in to the president’s office for questioning the following week, he kept denying that he had talked to Houtou’s Ni Jien Yi in a strip club, although when Sanzo urged Goku to show a picture that he had taken, Dougan changed tune, saying that it was pure chance that they had met, and when Sanzo asked the braided man if he sought for Ni Jien Yi for financial support, Dougan was baffled.

“Why would I have financial troubles, sir?”

“I dunno. You tell me. Why didn’t you tell me you’re working in a coffeeshop? Is that why you’ve been running late lately?”

The question struck Dougan speechless. And a lone thought ran through his mind—

“Are—are you worried for me... sir?”

Sanzo glanced at a mask-covered Goku, who stood beside him, unmoving since he showed the photo in his phone earlier. The assistant shrugged at his employer, his hands laid flat against his back, and Sanzo noticed the slight twitch of a finger that Goku had been trying to hide.

“Worried... yeah, I guess,” Sanzo mumbled in distraction as he stared intently at the beads of sweat appearing on Goku’s brow. His little assistant had been catching up on his work despite the fever he still had.

And Sanzo missed the look on Dougan’s face—eyes sparkling and wide, the sallow cheeks growing flushed, and lips parting in a wide smile—his very expression a cross between disbelief and sheer elation.

“Sanzo, your eyebrows are curled again. Also, you’re spacing out.”

Sanzo blinked, and barely registered Goku’s muffled words. Beneath that face mask, the blond was sure that the little monkey grinned—

“Right.” He coughed, and faced Dougan with his usual passive face, “Right. Are you seeking aid from the rival company? Because if you do, I can gladly fire you away.”

The response was immediate.

Dougan strode to the desk, fingers curled and, twitching and damp. “No, please! I’ll tell you everything, President Genjo, just please don’t fire me!”

And tell them, he did—his days of going to Houtou, his days of seeking its chief, telling Ni Jien Yi straight lies that he worked in a coffeeshop—

“So, this is all just to get access to that list?” Sanzo asked, his words slow and deliberate. When Dougan nodded, Sanzo leaned back on his chair, and beckoned Goku over. Giving Dougan a sidelong look, the president whispered to his assistant, “ _Call all the people involved to the conference hall—the ghost not included. Bring the brothers, too_.” When Goku made a snappy salute and exited the office, Sanzo dismissed Dougan, a gesture that the editor obeyed with reluctance.

Goku returned minutes later, huffing and panting with his hands on his knees—

“Hey, Monkey. You’ll barf yourself to death if you keep doing that.”

Goku hid a smile beneath his white, face mask, and wiped his sweat from his brow as he went over behind the desk and stole a quick peck to Sanzo’s cheek. “I feel less sick when I’m with you, though.”

“Feh. Keep your barfs in. You’re at work.”

“Yes, sir.”

The CEO and his assistant went to the conference hall, where they met up with two of Sanzo’s secretaries, Homura, the Sha brothers, “Elder” Jikaku, Kanzeon and Jiroushin, along with other people who usually sat with Dougan in the Buddhist Fiction department. There, they all talked about what to do with the troublesome man. Only a few people knew about the inner circle of Houtou House—the gentry, as Homura had called; but even so, an even fewer number of people knew about the very people ordering the mass killings among the publishing houses and the businessmen.

“No way did he happen to know about just stumbling upon that information by chance! Everyone knows no one has ever seen Houtou Chief’s face! Heck, even I have never seen it!” Jien exclaimed as he recalled Dougan’s outburst. “He just can’t.”

“I agree. My fiancé used to work there and yet he had never seen the president’s face—both the actual one and the acting one,” said one secretary.

Another secretary raised her hand, her face contorted in confusion, “My uncle said he had only heard of the name, Dr. Yi. Or was it Ni? I can’t remember. The police said my uncle died in a car accident, but I can tell that it was Houtou. Why? Because he found out about the killings. I then worked here to know about the company that wants to bring Houtou down. I’m pretty sure that if what Mr. Go claims that he goes in and out of Houtou easily is true, he would have been dead a long time ago. No outsider can freely talk to the shadow president himself and come out alive in one piece. That’s just insane.”

Kanzeon and Sanzo whispered among themselves, all the while, they listened to their subordinates’ comments.

“I agree with that,” Homura said, and he held back a choke as he talked, “my Rinrei was killed because she knew a bit too much about the company and refused to participate in what they called The Security.” All eyes fell on him, and Homura shrugged, “President, you can ask the ghost about it. That is what they call the killings—as a means of securing and promoting their positions and getting more properties.“

“Who’s the ghost?” Jien asked, and Gojyo elbowed him on the ribs and told him to keep his mouth shut.

“I’ll tell you in due time, bro.”

One of Dougan’s fellow editors raised his hand, “If I may, sirs, I have my concerns, too. About Dougan, I mean. He’s usually a great guy, but lately, I’ve been seeing him acting strangely... Like biting his nails, for example—”

“—and muttering to himself!” exclaimed another—

“—and muttering to himself, yes. But not work-related, President Genjo. More like, ‘I’ll beat him, I’ll beat him.’ And I don’t think he has an enemy on our floor. He’s friendly to all of us.”

Sanzo’s face turned to that of doubt, and he took a quick glance at Homura’s direction, “Is that so...”

Homura glanced back, his eyes narrowed at the blond.

“If I may, President?” the eldest man said in a low voice and a bow. Jikaku had a habit of touching his very bushy brows, smiling all the while. When Sanzo shrugged, Jikaku hummed, his face drooping and sagging from the cheeks. The smallest hint of a frown appeared beneath his thinning mustache, and he looked at the CEO and the vice president with half-lidded eyes.

“Is it not, the rule of the very foundation of this company, about absolute obedience and loyalty to its leader and fellow employees? If so, then why are we even discussing any of this when we know very well what we must do?”

Sanzo placed his elbows on the table, supported his clasped hands to his forehead, and closed his eyes. His shoulders tensed as he took a deep breath, and allowed the silence in the room to calm him down. When Sanzo felt a warm hand touch his right shoulder, his shoulders sagged, and faced the room with a cold stare.

The warmth from Goku’s hand left him, and he held back a shiver from the sudden loss of that feverish warmth.

“We’ll put him to the test, then. If he remains loyal even if he’s away from Kinzan, then he can live in Kinzan. But if not—”

His calloused hands brushed against a discreet lump inside his suit pocket, and violet eyes narrowed.

“—then we all know what to do, don’t we?”

Jikaku’s smile widened, and he bowed, followed by the others, save for Kanzeon and Goku.

“Understood,” they uttered in a calm unison.

* * *

 

Dougan arrived home to his rundown apartment, plopped down on the leather couch, shuffled out of his heavy, winter coat, and draped it over himself. Attempting to sleep after a long day at work, he his hid face beneath the fur hood of his coat, and scratched his pale cheek with much annoyance.

He rolled over the couch, and felt another itch tickling his face.

Scrunching his nose, he tried ignoring it, only for him to stop and flip the coat from his face, and discovered little things inside the hood.

Small, shiny, gray bugs with tiny, red eyes were stubbornly stuck on the hood, with their little antennas twitching every few seconds.

He turned his coat inside out, and noticed more of the inconspicuous, little bugs nestled and hidden inside the creases of the wool.

Feeling a sudden surge of embarrassment at the thought of his unkemptness being seen at work—and possibly in front of President Genjo, no less!—he bit his lip and felt his face grow hot.

Pushing embarrassment aside and letting curiosity take over, Dougan slowly took one with his index and thumb, and inspected the moving, little legs. Upon hearing a small sound that resembled ticking, Dougan tried squishing the little bug, and stopped when he felt hard, little strips that were like hair. Upon looking closer, he noticed that the little strips were not only hard, but also oddly shiny.

“Copper,” he muttered as he twirled the little bent wires in his fingers. Brows furrowing, he inspected the bug’s red eyes. His own eyes almost watered as he focused his sights on what the eyes were made of. There were no liquids of any kind, no little secretions, no small, white innards that were usually present in a bug’s body.

Turning the eye over, Dougan’s mouth fell open when he saw microchips inside the eye.

* * *

 

Ukoku had a smug smile the whole time he watched one of the many screens in front of him. A faint wisp of smoke wafted in the air as his sights drifted to the ceiling. The images on the monitors reflected on his spotless glasses, and he huffed another drag of cigarette smoke.

On the screen was a magnified projection of Dougan’s face, where the man’s nose filled the screen, the pores, and a bit of nose hair—and Ukoku laughed when the screen finally showed deafening static.

“Aah. It was fun while it lasted...!”

He stretched his arms upwards, and stood up and went to a table filled with little bugs of various shapes, some of them more inconspicuous than the others. He took a bug, a brown-hued one much like the color of Dougan’s coat. The editor didn’t have many color schemes on his wardrobe, Ukoku supposed, but it didn’t stop him from making more bugs.

“Dr. Ni, surely you have other better things to do than to make more of your toys,” a woman from behind him chided. She wore the same rectangular-framed glasses that Ukoku had, and had short, permed, black hair that reached up to her ears. Draped around her neck was the same ID that the other Houtou employees wore, and Ukoku turned around, and whistled at the way the ID leaned on the woman’s ample bosom. She bristled upon realizing what he implied, and turned away with a huff, making Ukoku laugh.

“Now, now, Dr. Hwang. Don’t pout. You know how I don’t like it when you pout. It makes me want to do things to it.”

Shoulders tensing, Dr. Hwang whipped around and stomped her foot, “Stop saying those things! This is why I can’t stand you!”

“Hmph, be careful with your words, Dr. Hwang. Or I might just replace you.” Ukoku sneered with a scoff, and peered at her through the askew glasses perched on his nose.

Dr. Hwang’s teeth gnashed, her dark eyes glowering at her chief. Digging her nails into her palms, she spat, “You wouldn’t dare!”

The chief barked a laugh too hollow and forced for it to sound real to his assistant, “Oh, but I just might. He could be a great asset to our Lady. You know how it works, don’t you? He’ll be the perfect stand-in. Maybe I could suggest for him to play with the Lady, too—”

The reverberating sound of palm hitting flesh stung in the air, and Dr. Hwang left Dr. Ni without a word, making the man rub his cheek with a toothy grin and barely stifled laughs in the darkness of the room.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dougan spews shit everywhere.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thirty pages long in MS Word. Wow. Much amazed. XD

When Dougan had received permission to keep watch on Houtou, he had expected any form of recognition from his employer, but no.

President Genjo Sanzo, had been looking at no one but his frantic and fumbling assistant through the glass panes the whole time he had talked to Dougan.

That young assistant had been going around the departments to make up for his absences.

Dougan had tried getting the president’s attention, but all he had gotten was a vague nod and a shrug, and with that, he had left the building looking quite dejected and grim, unaware of Gojyo tailing him—on Sanzo’s orders.

Homura stood in the hallway, observing his fellow editors and some agents as he leaned on the water dispenser, and he saw the president’s assistant running around.

With a small bottle of energy drink inside his suit, Goku went around the office in a flurry, leaving some of his fellow copyeditors behind. It was the hated part of the cycle where deadlines had to be met, and as he went along, he proofread the manuscripts. After his sick leave, he had to do twice as much work as he usually did, and no one was happier than Goku himself, oftentimes offering help to any new clients and other authors with a smile.

Homura sipped on his coffee and talked to an intern. His short coffee breaks were his small pieces of peace. Unlike the president, who was stuck in his office and stared at monitors and looked at papers all day long, Homura could go outside his cubicle and see other people—

Grinning, he observed the way Goku chatted with his fellow workers with big smiles and soft looks. “He’s missing a lot.”

“Who?”

Shrugging, Homura jerked his thumb behind him, “Heh, the president, of course. Such sights to behold on a Monday morning!”

The intern smiled a tad too wide and stepped back, bowing, “Good day, President Genjo.”

Homura stopped and blinked, and craned his neck around to see Kinzan’s president frowning. On the blond’s right hand was an empty paper cup, his fingers tapping on the rim. Homura laughed off his realization, “That was you? Hello, Konzen. Nice day we’re having, right?”

Sanzo hummed, his one brow raised as he glanced at Goku’s retreating form. The copyeditor was armed with papers and folders, and Sanzo fought back a smirk. “Hm. If that nice day involves you staring wistfully at my assistant while gossiping around and proclaiming your fantasies to an innocent employee, then I don’t think it’s completely nice at all. Move.”

Homura laughed and raised his palms as he moved away from the coffee machine, “I thought you have your coffee delivered to you every day?”

Sanzo’s eye twitched as he poured coffee into his cup, all pretense of being as civil as he could kept at bay, “As you can see, the one who was supposed to bring me my coffee is running around like a headless chicken.”

“In short, it’s an excuse to get out of your office and check on our pet, right?” Homura laughed, and elbowed the intern beside him. “Don’t harm the little pet, he’ll bite back.”

“If you’re finished talking about private matters in front of me,” Sanzo berated as he rolled his eyes to the ceiling, “you can fuck off now.” He scoffed—being civil was never his strong suit, anyway. Turning to the intern next to Homura, Sanzo noticed the boy looking a tad smaller than Goku, albeit with the same wide eyes and boundless optimism. Another notable thing was the intern’s complete baldness. “Fresh face, huh. Good. This place needs a new editor soon. Who’s supervising you? I have a hint who, I just want to make sure.”

The intern straightened his back and puffed out his chest. With a radiant smile that could rival Goku’s, the intern replied, “Elder Jikaku is supervising me, President Genjo! Ah. M-my name is Yōu—”

“I knew it,” the president clicked his tongue and looked away for a fraction of a second, and turned his attention to the intern again. “Oh. Yōu, is it. Confusing name, if I must say. I’ll call you Youmei. It’s easier,” Sanzo said with a shrug.

Youmei stammered babbles. Upon seeing that Homura wouldn’t disagree with the president, however, the intern calmed himself and looked at Sanzo with awe and smiled. “In that case, President Genjo, let me reintroduce myself! I’m Yōu, but you can call me Youmei!”

Sanzo nodded and shrugged—a vague gesture that he acknowledged the introduction—and wiggled his pinky in his ear. After downing his coffee, he turned to a smiling Homura. “Hey, Odd Eyes. Did you get what I asked?”

“The security logs, right? I got them, and he leaves the same time everyday.”

“The same habitual shit, huh. Fine.” Sanzo clicked his tongue, and crushed the paper cup. Ignoring the scandalized look on Youmei’s face as the CEO took out a cigarette and a lighter, he placed the stick between his lips, the lighter’s little flame inching closer to the little stick and—

“Sanzo! No smoking outside your office!”

Sanzo hissed and stomped his foot once upon hearing the familiar yell, and in response, he stopped as a puffed up Goku marched from the end of the hallway and straight to where he was—

—and snatched the lighter and the cigarette from the blond. Waving the unlit stick on Sanzo’s face, Goku scolded him, “No. Cigarettes! You can do it in your office, but not outside where there are other people. I’m confiscating these. Hand the others over.”

Sanzo didn’t move as he glared down at his assistant without a word. Not averting his glower from Goku’s equally relentless glare, Sanzo dropped the pack on the opened palm with a minute jutting of the lip and much reluctance. All the while, he ignored Homura chortling beside him. He clicked his tongue, squinting at his younger subordinate, “That shit’s coming out of your next paycheck.”

Goku huffed, and stuck out his tongue with an impish grin, “Say what you want. I’m doing this for your health. It’s either your cigarettes or your mayo.”

“Fuck you, imp.”

Goku grinned, and waved the lighter and the pack of cigarettes one last time before chucking them in his suit pocket. Leaning over to the scowling blond, he whispered something to Sanzo, and earned him a swift smack to the head. Goku winced, but grinned as he jogged away, giggling to himself.

Homura, as soon as Goku was out of earshot, glanced discreetly at a distracted Youmei, and leaned over to Sanzo, who had been flushed from whatever Son Goku had whispered to the blond and composed himself in a few moments. “I’m going to pretend I didn’t see anything just now.  The logs are on your desk, by the way. In front of your monitor,” he muttered to the blond. “Sha Gojyo is on the move as we speak. Did you actually do it, Konzen? Bugging him, I mean?”

Sanzo shrugged, his face passive as he spoke, “Not my entire orders. It’s the hag. You know how she is.”

“Son Goku actually managed to do it?” Homura breathed, surprise evident through his blue and golden eyes. “Let me guess. He did his usual round of flailing arms and distracted Go Dougan long enough to plant a bug on him?”

Sanzo shrugged, although the ghost of a tug on the corner of his lip betrayed his apathy about Goku’s accomplishment. “Let Dougan do what he wants. As long as the prick’s not doing anything harmful to this place, we’re all good.”

Youmei, who silently watched the exchange with a small smile, puffed out his chest and declared with a grin, “President Genjo, is there anything I can help you with? I-if there’s anything at all, that is. Um.”

“You can start with shutting Odd Eyes’s trap here. That’ll help me a lot,” Sanzo huffed, jabbing a thumb to where Homura stood with a lopsided grin. Youmei cheered a determined affirmative, and the blond went away.

“That will be your boss until you retire,” Homura whispered to Youmei. “That is, if you can stand his attitude. He’s secretly a softie, or so I’ve been told,” he let out with a little laugh as Youmei smiled, bashful at the information. It didn’t escape Homura that on his way back to his office, Sanzo’s eyes followed Goku for a moment too long, something that Youmei didn’t notice.

“I can accept whatever challenge he throws at me, sir. If it’s from President Genjo, then I’ll give it my best!”

Homura blinked, patted the intern on the shoulder, and shook his head with a tightlipped smile, “What is it with that man that he attracts everyone?”

* * *

 

“...so, what say you, Mr. Dougan? I can call you that right? We have been talking for quite some time now.”

Dougan sat back on the plush chair that felt a tad too stiff for his liking. It did not help that he didn’t remove his heavy coat, in fact, it only added fire to his steadily rising temperature. The leather beneath his thighs squeaked against his slight movements, and the dried sweat from his back beaded once more under Chief Ni’s cunning gaze and crooked smile.

Chief Ni’s office suddenly felt too small.

“I have to—talk it over with my professor—”

“Ah, but you _are_ considering it, aren’t you?” the chief chortled, grinning behind the stick of cigarette that seemed to be a permanent thing in between the man’s lips. “Wouldn’t it be nice, if, for once, you could decide for your own? Your professor doesn’t have to know!” He laughed and stood, and went over to Dougan to pat him firmly on the shoulder. “Also, you can get comfortable with me. The thermostat is quite adjusted nicely.” Chief Ni fiddled with the hood of the coat, and ruffled his fingers in between the faux fur, “You really like this coat, huh? It has a nice look to it. I’ve never seen you without it.”

Dougan fidgeted in his seat, and Ni noticed Dougan looking around his coat, eyes fervently looking for something.

“Something the matter?” Ni asked Dougan, his grin growing toothier by the second as he observed the man with a shrewd eye.

Dougan swallowed the spit in his mouth, and stared down at the pen, then at the document staring at him with its plain black print.

Chief Ni went around him, placed his cold hands on his coat, and leaned to his ear.

“Go on, sign it. No one will know, plus, you’ll get all that you want—and more.”

Dougan’s breath hitched and felt his hands run cold. On the sheet of paper were words that passed by his mind in a blur, and beneath it was a long line, waiting for the man’s signature.

His fingers trembled against his knees, felt a bead of sweat drip behind his ear, and felt Chief Ni’s hands smooth across his coat-clad shoulder, sliding the garment down to his elbows.

Dougan heard a small ticking sound from behind him, and there was nothing more, save for hearing Chief Ni’s breath down his ear.

“Now, Mr. Dougan—make your choice.”

* * *

 

Kanzeon lounged on her divan in her home. Sitting in front of her was her nephew, looking as grim as he had always been.

“What is the document about?” inquired Sanzo, who chucked the earbuds from his ears. “He returned to Kinzan, sure, but didn’t mention any of this. Gojyo followed him on his return but he said that Dougan didn’t act suspicious at all. Who saw the bug? Did Dougan squish it? Or was it Ukoku?”

Humming, Kanzeon stretched her right arm and stared at her holographic, lacquered nails with much fascination. “I honestly don’t know the answers to your questions. But Konzen, dear, maybe he is trying to hide something from us? That Dougan, I mean. He’s looking more and more suspicious than our little guest in Kinzan, and he’s the one who had killed.” Her low-cut and halter top dress shifted as she moved to sit up, and Sanzo rolled his eyes upon seeing a bit too much of his aunt’s chest.

“Speaking of that, how is his case? Last time I checked, Shien was sniffing around the crime scene according to what Zakuro stated.”

Kanzeon shrugged, and her eyebrows rose when she noticed her nephew, flushed in the face and neck, hissing as he drank only whiskey, and refusing to pair it with his favorite smokes. Stifling a smile, she plucked a grape from the fruit bowl on the coffee table and ate it. “Zakuro is doing good, according to Shien. That’s why he’s under lenient supervision in his house arrest. Even if he was not under orders, Zakuro seems to be doing well. He hasn’t been committing anything bad since he was in Kinzan. I take it Gojyo is treating him well, too?”

Sanzo nodded, and swallowed another gulp of the amber liquid before speaking, “He’s doing good. Zakuro’s drafts are going well, and at this rate, he’ll get to earn his keep as a writer in Kinzan as promised. That is, if he’ll pass our standards.”

“I trust your judgment,” Kanzeon said with a flippant wave of her hand, smiling as she pointed a long nail at her nephew, “but the issue at hand is: do you trust your underling’s judgment? That Dougan seems to be standing on two boats at once. He can’t decide which task to focus on.”

“What I’m also worried about is this document Ukoku seems to be making Dougan to sign. I’ll look more into it.” He glanced at Goku, who sat in front of the console, simultaneously eating chicken nuggets as he played a game. Sighing, Sanzo leaned back on the sofa, and patted the inside of his coat. He glanced at Goku at the corner of his eye once more, then at his smiling aunt, and Sanzo clicked his tongue, muttering about stupid family members.

He couldn’t smoke inside Kanzeon’s home, after all.

“You’re still doing your shooting practice, right?” Kanzeon inquired as she took another grape in her mouth, smiling at the way her nephew seemed to be torn between going out of the room to smoke or to stay and drink to his heart’s content. When Sanzo grunted his response, Kanzeon puffed out her almost bare chest, and glanced at the brunet playing his time away at the TV. “Goku dear, do you still practice with Konzen?”

“Uh huh,” said the teen, his eyes glued to the screen as he spoke. “One time Gojyo’s balls almost got shot because he made fun of Sanzo’s gun—”

Kanzeon guffawed until her eyes sprang tears, her fingers shaking as she pointed at her growling nephew. “P-pretty sure he meant that literally? Hahaha!” She ignored her nephew’s icy glares and empty threats, and joined in with Goku’s peals of laughter and Jiroushin’s chuckles from across the room.

Goku returned to the scowling man, coiling his arms around him, laughing and pecking him on the cheek when Sanzo tried cursing him off. Sanzo tried pulling at his hair, only to end up ruffling the wayward brown locks instead with a click of the tongue.

And Sanzo, in all his inebriated self, kissed Goku on the full on the lips, a gesture that the teen reciprocated by burying his hands on the golden locks and deepening the kiss.

It was then that Jiroushin, who had been laughing while pouring tea for his mistress, let out a breathless gasp, the tea forgotten, unaware that it missed the cup and spilled to the tray and onto the table. Kanzeon, meanwhile, bit her lower lip and took out her phone and took quick snapshots of the short-lived moment.

Goku managed to salvage what little of drunken Sanzo’s dignity was left by covering their faces with a throw pillow.

Kanzeon shed a tear and mumbled something about having her wish as a loving aunt fulfilled.

And their night went by like that—light, and carefree.

* * *

 

Goku had his face half-buried in his turtleneck as he walked down the crowded, lamp-lit streets blanketed in snow.

Earlier, Sanzo had ordered him to get into Dougan’s home, and he had done just as that. Talking with his fellow editor in his small but decent apartment had been nice at first—even the simple bowl of simmered pumpkin served to him was delicious—although there was a part in the older man’s room that hit him as odd—

—a corkboard on the wall, filled with pictures and memos written in rushed, heavy scrawls.

At first, Goku had thought it was normal, as he had a corkboard filled with memos in his room, too, but Dougan’s was another matter.

With shivering, glove-clad hands, Goku rummaged inside the pocket of his winter coat, and took out a photo and a note attached to it.

It was a picture of the annual function Kinzan had just last month. Most of the staff from the various departments were in the photo, huddled together under a sparkling chandelier—the men in stuffy suits and ties, and the women in gorgeous evening dresses.

One part of the picture made him frown, as his sights returned to the foreground, where he stood behind a frowning Sanzo—

—and his face scribbled on until it created a tiny, crude hole in the photo. Apart from him, there wasn’t anyone else whose face had been vandalized, and that made him worry.

Sighing, he slid the photo back to his pocket, and inspected the note. It was an odd note among the rest, and Goku had made sure he took the note and the photo without Dougan’s knowledge—

Biting his lip, the brunet chucked the note back in his pocket and made his way back to Kinzan.

Goku went to his floor and hurried out as he went to the floor above him. He tiptoed and peeked inside Sanzo’s room, half-expecting the man to be nose-deep in his work. Instead, he found the blond’s back facing him, sleeping, and already tucked in bed at 8pm.

Goku smiled, and returned to the kitchen to clean the few plates on the sink. He fed expectant, little Tama, and went to the small, glass cabinet with the urn inside, and sat in front of it with his feet tucked under his thighs. Bowing, he smiled, and paid his respects to Sanzo’s late father.

“Good evening, Mr. Koumyou, sir. I take it you are well today?” Goku whispered with a smile. He had always done this whenever Sanzo was out of earshot or when the blond was asleep—it always calmed Goku down. “Mr. Koumyou, I... I have a problem. Um, how should I say this—um, have you met anyone who had been nice to you upfront, but secretly scratches your face out in pictures? Um—” He clenched his hands on his lap and curled his toes tucked behind him. “This person I’m talking about seems nice, but sometimes I feel like this person is mocking me when I turn my back. I don’t know if I should be mad or worried. I mean, I don’t want a confrontation—”

Tama crept up to Goku’s side and curled up in front of him, meowing. The brunet smiled and patted her on the head. “Mr. Koumyou, what should I do...?”

Tama stretched out in front of him and climbed on his lap, and wrapped her soft paws around his neck. Goku let out a giggle when her rough tongue licked his jaw. “Mr. Koumyou, I—haha—ah.”

He noted the way Tama’s brown eyes looked at him, her pupils wide—and they closed, the glossy orbs hidden behind two, tiny lines for eyes. And Goku laughed.

“This is your answer, isn’t it...?” he paused, and looked at how Koumyou looked—always smiling, serene, and carefree—

At one point, Goku thought how similar Sanzo might be if Sanzo were from Koumyou’s blood. Would he be gentle and kind, would he smile a lot and joke a lot? Goku could only imagine—and as he looked at how grumpy little Sanzo had been in the picture, Goku shook his head, mumbled, “no”, and bowed to the urn and the portrait with a smile. “Sanzo wouldn’t be Sanzo if he smiled a lot, Mr. Koumyou. I like him the way he is.”

He placed Tama back on the floor, and bowed to Koumyou’s portrait one last time, and he went inside Sanzo’s room. The room was lit with the small bedside lamp, dimmed, as Sanzo preferred during sleep—and Goku clambered on the bed and draped himself on top of the sleeping blond, kissing him once on the temple and twice on the ear.

The man beneath him shuffled and took a deep breath with his eyes still closed.

“If I didn’t know that was you, I would’ve shot you in the head.”

Goku grinned and hummed, and noted Sanzo’s hand stuck under the pillow. “Reaching out for your gun again, I see. You worry too much,” he joked, and planted his cheek to Sanzo’s.

“Took you too damn long to return. What gives?” Sanzo groaned as he rubbed the sleep from his eyes. Goku said nothing, and rolled over him and slid under the covers, grinning. “What’s wrong?” Sanzo asked the moment he realized Goku was burying himself under his chin. Sanzo bit back a comment about the sudden cold, and stayed silent when he felt goosebumps from Goku’s cold hands sliding inside the back of his sweater. “Goku,” he muttered close to the smaller man’s ears, ruffling the hickory locks as he did so. He blew on it until Goku squirmed and whined. The pale man hummed when he felt Goku’s face and body grow hot—

“...dunno what to do...”

“What?”

And Goku told him what happened, about his talk with Dougan, his quick looks in the apartment, the things he found and how he felt.

When Goku was done with his story, Sanzo clicked his tongue, patted Goku on the head, and muttered through clenched teeth, “What did I say about shitty people?”

Goku’s words were muffled on Sanzo’s sweater, and the blond sighed—

“I can’t hear you, idiot.”

Goku breathed in deep, and finally craned his neck, looking at those purple eyes with his worried ones, “‘Don’t mind their shit’, and ‘They’re all shit.’ But Sanzo, I didn’t do anything wrong to make him mad! I just wanted to be friends with him—”

“Goku, you can’t please everyone. Because most people are pricks and only want what’s ideal for them. Anyone they see who don’t resemble anything like their ideal image will be scrapped. Dougan, for example, has a silly idea in his head about me being his sugar daddy or something—”

“...Ew.”

“I know. So. What did I do? I transferred the hell out of him into the department he’s in now. You replaced him, and we’re left to where we are now. Do you get where I’m getting at?”

“...that he’s jealous?”

“And?”

“He wants to be your assistant again so you can be his sugar daddy again!”

“Goku, don’t say that shit with a happy face, stupid. I am not his fucking sugar, and not even close to a father!”

Goku fell silent, stared at the indignation on Sanzo’s face, and burst out laughing, “Sanzo, you’re funny! Ahahaha!” And he rolled Sanzo over to his back and hugged him, grinning all the while. “Thanks for making me laugh, Sanzo—” he let out in between giggles and quick kisses to the older man’s jaw, much to the other’s chagrin.

“I wasn’t trying to make you laugh, idiot—!”

“Ah, which reminds me!” Goku sat upright, straddling Sanzo beneath him, and he left the bed, scampering from the room. “Lemme show you that picture I was talking about!” he hollered from the living room. Sanzo, meanwhile, sighed and hauled himself upwards, and scratched his already messy hair.

Glancing at the bedside clock that read 8:45, he sighed.

“So much for sleep.”

Goku returned to the bedroom and jumped on the bed, ignoring Sanzo’s howls of pain from his thighs as he straddled him once more. “Sanzo, here!” he said with newfound enthusiasm as he dug into his winter coat and pulled out the photo and the note and shoved it on Sanzo’s face.

“What is this note? ...what do you mean, ‘notify’ me?” Sanzo turned the note over, looking for more clues. Seeing none, read out the note once more, “‘Ni Jien Yi, chief of Houtou — notify Pres. Genjo’.” He squinted at the bottom of the paper, noting the asterisk behind the words, “‘Kind man’. Well, I don’t suppose he’s planning on feeding me this bullshit, right? What part of that lecher is kind?”

Goku shrugged, and mirrored Sanzo’s confusion. “Maybe Ukoku has a kind side we don’t know?”

Sanzo gave him a blank stare and a raised brow, “Monkey, he’s the head of a company that orders his subordinates to kill their fellow subordinates. What kind of kindness is that?”

“Oh. Right. So uh, what do we do now?”

* * *

 

Goku noticed Dougan coming to Kinzan less and less. When he notified Sanzo, he was told he was well aware of it, and Goku didn’t need to worry.

When Dougan did return to Kinzan after the publishing’s hell cycle, Goku made sure to observe the man when the timing was right.

He noticed that some of the editors on Dougan’s floor kept complaining in hushed tones about how Dougan had been slacking off and had been in complete absence during the end of the cycle. Goku couldn’t blame them. He’d be mad, too.

Taking another gulp of his energy drink as he talked to one of Sanzo’s secretaries, Goku kept a close eye on Dougan from outside the Buddhist fiction department, standing by as he talked from one person to another.

Dougan looked around his cubicle, making sure no one was looking his way, and he slipped a large binder on his desk, making sure to hide the logo on the cover with his fingers. Sneaking a quick peek in its contents, Dougan’s palms broke out in a cold sweat, his breathing became labored, and his glasses slipped from his nose, trying to conceal his sudden jitters, his vibrating vocal chords, and the twitching edges of his lips—

He covered the binder with a stack of manuscripts when an agent walked by, and pretended to look at it. Once out of his sight, Dougan removed the manuscript and read the contents of the binder once more, and grinned.

“Hiya, what ya doing?”

Dougan jolted from his seat and bit his tongue from yelling in his seat. Turning around, glaring, Goku stood behind him with his ever cheerful smile, hands placed behind his back as Goku greeted him once more.

“Oh, hello, Mr. Goku,” he muttered, breathless, as he placed the manuscript on the binder. He gulped when he noticed Goku glancing over his shoulder, golden eyes curious about the hidden thing. “What can I do for you today?” He swiveled his chair around, facing him with a smile through brows beading with cold sweat.

Goku noticed Dougan tried to conceal whatever it was that he hid behind his chair and draped coat on top of it, and so he let it be. “I just noticed we haven’t talked lately since I went to your house. Um, have I done something wrong?”

Dougan blanched, and waved his hands about, “No, no! That’s not it at all! I was just busy with what President Genjo assigned me on. I apologize if it came off as me ignoring you.”

Goku beamed, his smile a tad too wide, and Dougan failed to see the lack of crow’s feet on the corners of his eyes. “Oh, is that so,” the assistant inquired with his shoulders raised as he bounced on the balls of his feet. “That’s great!” he cheered, and they talked, with Dougan sitting—and refusing to stand up no matter how long Goku stood. So Goku took a vacant seat and sat in front of him, talking to no end during the quick break.

When Elder Jikaku interrupted on their conversation, he excused Dougan. Goku shrugged, and told them it was fine. Dougan looked torn—his gaze flitting between Goku and Jikaku, and as he stood, his fingers curled and splayed and lingered on the edges of the binder beneath the manuscript, and Jikaku urged Dougan away, leaving the folder behind.

“I’ll return to my floor now, thanks for the time!” Goku cheered as he waved at the retreating Dougan. The older man nodded, stiff, his eyes guarded as he walked, before disappearing behind the door of the editor-in-chief’s office.

Goku first caressed Dougan’s coat, traced the soft fleece under the leather under the pretense of being fascinated with the softness of the material. Taking sharp glances at any nearby people, Goku planted another bug in one of the coat’s crevices, and he looked at Dougan’s desk.

He memorized the way the contents were arranged, and wasted no time in sifting under the manuscript to dig into what he was looking for.

The black binder was thick, and held no logos other than Houtou’s logo the cover. Inside were many glossy pages of houses for sale, their amenities, their vicinities, and accommodations. There were also lists of what Goku assumed as prices at first glance.

He whipped out his phone in a flash and took pictures of the cover and the contents of the binder as he looked around and took bites out of a meat bun from his pocket. Once done, he stuffed his phone back, arranged the documents as how Dougan left them, and left the department, forwarding the attachments to Sanzo’s email as he trekked back to the 23rd floor to report to Sanzo.

What they have seen was not what they expected.

Instead of seeing the list of names from Houtou as Sanzo ordered Dougan to do, he and Goku saw details of a large house, its features, amounts of salaries and incentives, _weapons_ —

One figure from the list was highlighted in a wobbly streak of light green.

Goku asked what it was, and Sanzo stayed silent, his elbow perched on the swivel chair’s armrest, his slender index finger poised and curled against his downturned lips as he carefully scrolled down and inspected every picture that Goku took. Once he reached the bottom of the page, he hummed, and scrolled back up to where Goku pointed.

“Oh, it’s a salary, all right. Higher than what I give you and the others, from the looks of it.”

“Why would Dougan have a list of salaries? Also, Sanzo, why don’t you give all of us a raise?” Goku bellowed with a clenched fist, mouth scrunching in a comical downward curve as he furrowed his brows at his employer. “We could all need a raise!”

“Goku, shut up,” Sanzo deadpanned, his eyes not leaving the screen as his fingers toyed with the laptop’s touchpad. “You don’t need a raise when you’re practically living in my apartment every day and sponging on my wallet on a weekly basis.” Goku laughed and stuck out his tongue, playful, and Sanzo spared him a glance, huffing through twitching lips. “Besides, there’s hardly any reason for a raise. Majority of the people here reside in Kinzan. The only exception are the generals. Their salary is a bit higher because they don’t live in Kinzan. They get to pay rent and food and transportation and other billing shit. Now, aside from the monthly salary I give to the gentry, you don’t get to pay rent and any expenses aside from necessities in exchange of—”

“Keeping you and Kinzan safe on a daily basis, I know,” Goku chimed in, laughing. “I’m just kidding. About the raise, I mean. Forgive me?”

Sanzo glanced at those fluttering eyelids, the amber eyes wide and impish, those lips curled in a suppressed leer, and he scoffed, looking back at the monitor with the air of nonchalance. “We’re at work. Act modestly.”

“Says the guy who swears at his subordinates on a weekly basis.”

Sanzo’s brow twitched.

And their light banter began. Throwing words and jabs and empty threats back and forth with humor that sounded crass and tongue-in-cheek to anyone who could hear them, save for the men speaking the words. It was their daily squabble, the closest the two of them could do with speaking privately in a public setting. For Goku, it relieved him from the tension of his daily life at work. For Sanzo, it fueled and ignited his brain, coming up with words that grew sharper and sharper the longer their banter got. Childish though it might seem, their small, daily bickering took Sanzo’s mind off the things he dealt with on a daily basis. Anything that could take his mind off work was a welcomed bonus.

Plus, Sanzo got off of it.

“—and you know what, you can be quite the jerk! Yanking the blankets from me at night!”

“Hah? I put you to sleep every time you’re sick, punk! The least you could do is give me my blanket!”

“But I was cold! And I had a fever! For a week!”

“So? I’m your fucking boss!”

“I _know_ you’re my fucking boss!”

The meaning slipped past Sanzo for a moment too long, and when he realized what Goku had rebutted, the two stared at each other, silent and unmoving—until the little imp snorted and snickered behind tanned hands, mirth pooling from the corners of his closed eyes. And Sanzo blinked, allowed the joke to settle in his mind, and joined in on the rounds of sniggering, shoulders shaking and abdomen jerking in spasms in between contained spurs of chortles.

Unbeknownst to them, a wide-eyed Dougan stood by the door, pausing in knocking on the CEO’s office.

Upon hearing Goku raising his voice against Kinzan’s president, Dougan took a step back in shock, and looked around, gauging if anyone had heard the nasty exchange through the minute cracks on the door. The continued talking of the people in the cubicles remained—some working and some talking, and most doing both, and he realized that no one had taken notice of the president’s assistant yelling at the president himself.

He glanced at Goku’s empty chair, and his teeth gnashed as his hands balled into tight fists—

—and he retreated from the office with long strides.

* * *

 

Kami guffawed as he cooed at the stone-faced receptionist behind the desk. Work for today was done. It had been quick, seamless, and downright boring. He concealed the mark on his face with a swift flip of his hair to the front, and smiled at the stoic receptionist.

His smile fell, however, when Dougan came swooping in beside him, commanding the receptionist to check if Chief Ni was available. Speechless, Kami glowered at the oblivious yet livid-looking Dougan tapping his fingers away on the desk.

“Excuse me,” Kami crowed, indignation written on his face as he stared Dougan down, “do you have an appointment with the chief today?” His voice was clipped, the spite slipping through his teeth. Dougan then cut him off with a raised palm to his face.

“I _will_ meet Chief Ni today.”

And so he did.

Ignoring the stares from the receptionist and Kami, Dougan marched to Chief Ni’s office, passing by Dr. Hwang’s desk without a word—

“Ah, hey! The doctor is—”

Dougan slammed the door wide open, his hand gripping the knob, as he glared straight at Chief Ni’s back, who stood in front of the desk, hunched over.

“Chief Ni! I have made the decision! I accept your offer.”

Ni looked up from what he was doing, and craned his neck around to see Dougan standing by the doorway looking grim.

Puffing smoke from his cigarette, the man’s face was dampened with sweat from the hairline to neck, and the chief craned his neck to look at him, and his usual grin twisted in a broad and eerie leer. His usual, crisp white coat was wrinkled, rumpled up and bunched inside his equally rumpled, white slacks—

—in front of him was a woman with long, green hair bunched in a bun, her half-clothed body bent over in a complete state of dishevelment.

“Ah, Mr. Dougan, how nice to see you!” cooed Chief Ni as he smoothed his tongue over his upper lip. “Just in time. I want you to meet the boss. But first, please, leave your coat to Dr. Hwang. The air around might be too... stuffy for your tastes.”

* * *

 

Kanzeon’s office was the window to her mind—with a sparkling chandelier illuminating the large room, lines of shelves filled with books about anything and everything stacked in neat rows upon the light green walls, her library reflected the immense amount of knowledge that she had. Behind her full but orderly desk, the large, closed windows loomed, shutting the cold, winter air away.

Kanzeon stared at her computer showing several screens of sound waves—the lines and bars dancing and vibrating on the monitor—and frowned, her manicured nails tapping on her cheekbone as she listened to a conversation attached to her earpiece.

“— _leave your coat to Dr. Hwang_ —”

She bristled and whipped her head around, tendrils of her wavy, black hair kissing her cheeks, “Jiroushin. He knows—”

Jiroushin, who had been listening on his own earpiece, smiled at his mistress, “Mr. Gojyo is already at the building, investigating the area as we speak. Shall I notify the president?”

“No need. I’ll call him—hm? My little nephew sent me a message! ...oh. Oh. Well, would you look at that.”

Jiroushin peered over her shoulder, blinking at the screen, “What is it, Miss?”

“Salaries and benefits of working under Houtou, from the looks of it. Look, there’s even properties provided.”

Jiroushin took out his monocle, and squinted through the glass, “Hm? Twenty-two million yen for a house? And... Mistress Kanzeon, what is that highlighted number there?”

Kanzeon hummed, and bit her lip, “Also a salary, but...”

“It’s higher than the amount we give to our employees, Mistress! Triple the amount! Does this mean—?”

* * *

In front of a quaint restaurant catering to different Mediterranean cuisine, Gojyo adjusted his shades, and blew smoke from his nose. Taking a bite off his brasato al barolo, he kept watch on the entrance to Houtou House, where Dougan had been in for the past few hours.

Sitting across Gojyo, with a calm smile on his face as he read a book of poems, was Hakkai. “I must say, this is not the day off I expected. Any news from Sanzo?”

Gojyo nodded with his mouth full. Swallowing his food, he tapped his phone on the table, “Yeah. Says they’re gonna be here any minute. From the lack of smileys in Goku’s text, I say His Highness is—”

The heady drone of a vehicle roaring from a distance pierced the city air, buffeting the roads with clouds of smoke as a black Bugatti Chiron careened and swerved through the streets with immense speed, deafening and scaring the people it passed by—

“Hm, I guess that is a troubling matter,” Hakkai agreed, taking a sip of his tea. “Maybe that’s why he asked me to come here?”

—vehicles paved way for the overspeeding car, the bicyclists steered away from the roads as the black car approached their direction—

Gojyo’s laughter boomed, slapping his hand on his thigh, “Yeah, maybe there’s gonna be a massive spillage of blood for you to stop. Hahaha!”

Stunned people nearby glared at the car’s unseen driver, and some hollered out their complaints to dust—

The car, sleek and attention-grabbing in all its glory, slowed to a stop in front of the restaurant, where Gojyo and Hakkai laughed over tea and smokes.

The car’s door opened, and Sanzo came out in a sharp, tailored wine-hued suit with a black tie and black boots. By the passenger’s seat, Goku emerged dressed in a tailored, pewter-hued suit with a honey-colored tie and black shoes.

Hakkai took notice of them immediately, and waved to them over Goku’s rather loud scolding to Sanzo smoking a cigarette with furrowed brows and a snarl—something about the police catching them—

“—your license would’ve been removed—!”

“Like I give a fuck what they think. Hey, Hakkai, Gojyo, where’s the fucker?”

Any lingering laughs Hakkai and Gojyo had were gone when Sanzo approached them.

Behind Sanzo, Goku pouted, and looked around and smelled the food. His and Sanzo’s mood have turned sour when Kanzeon had called. Goku didn’t know all the details yet, as Sanzo had talked to Kanzeon over the phone, but Goku knew it had something to do with Dougan.

Goku fumed, his hands curling into fists. Whatever his Aunt Kanzeon had told to Sanzo, Goku was sure it was bad. The information on the files that he had taken pictures of—the amounts of salaries, the prices of houses and lots in the area, the questionable incentives of handling weapons that not even Kinzan employees have had taken a hold of, the prospect of getting “protection from the outside” (whatever it meant)—made Goku anxious. Sanzo had seen something that Goku hadn’t, and it made him worry.

Sanzo had never been good with words regarding solving big problems, opting to keep things to his own until they blew up in his face.

Goku couldn’t have that. That was what he applied for—to be Sanzo’s helping hand, his confidant, the person he could talk his problems to—

He wouldn’t be doing his job right if he couldn’t make Sanzo speak up, and Goku wouldn’t want that. He had to do his job right—to make Sanzo speak his mind about the heavy matters and solve the problem together.

The feeling like he had a rock sinking in his stomach increased when he glanced at Sanzo’s pocket, then at the silhouette of the blond from behind. Goku noted the tightening of his superior’s jaw, the tensed shoulders, the idle tapping of his forefinger on his pocket—small indications that Sanzo was prepared to at least maim someone to oblivion.

Goku heaved a withheld sigh as the noises around him buzzed through his ears, and he observed his surroundings. There was no time to eat, that could wait. People were around—families and couples and the elderly and the young. On the other side of the street stood Houtou House, with its towering, glass doors and thick, gray walls. The building looked taller and larger compared to Kinzan and Godworks.

Oddly enough, the other side of the street was devoid of any passersby, and any vehicle passing by on the road closer to Houtou’s grounds quickly changed lanes, even the bicyclists seemed to avoid the vicinity around Houtou. One mother, Goku observed, pulled and carried her toddler away when her child patted the gray walls of the building. She pulled her child close to her chest and bowed as she hurriedly crossed the street and walked towards the restaurant where Goku stood by. Only when they have made it across did she put her child down and allowed her daughter to walk on her own again. Goku’s sights never left the mother and daughter even they were far away, and he noticed—

—the mother and her child crossed the street again, and walked on the sidewalk without a care, even letting her child touch the walls of the buildings near where they walked, unlike minutes ago.

Goku frowned, feeling the bile in his throat clawing upwards to be vomited. If the people around this area avoided Houtou in a literal sense because of the killings Houtou did, then why did the company continue to exist? Why not just obliterate it completely?

He glanced at Sanzo, where the blond was in deep conversation with Gojyo and Hakkai.

Sanzo shouldn’t be brash in public, not ever, if he wanted to keep his position in the public eye.

Goku knew what he signed up for—to protect Sanzo from any threat to his life.

Goku saw movement from the other side of the street, and saw Dougan emerge from the daunting building of Houtou, staring at a manila envelope with a huge, manic smile on his face.

He knew that envelope—had seen one just like it.

It was the same envelope—the one with Houtou’s logo stamped on the cover—

It was the very same envelope that Kami had whenever he reported his killings to Ukoku.

Goku’s blood ran cold.

How could he. _How_. _Could_. _He_.

Goku trusted him. Sanzo _trusted_ him.

Kinzan had one policy that was absolute, a policy that he learned from her Aunt Kanzeon at a young age— _everyone under Kinzan’s care must follow their present leader and keep him safe until another one takes over; tolerate no traitors_.

“ _Tolerate no traitors._ ”

His hand swooped inside his coat, his eyes locking on his walking target—

“Goku, what are you doing.”

“Removing pests.”

A large, pale hand enclosed over his, the touch light—and Goku looked at Sanzo, pain and anger written on his golden eyes—

“I’ve seen that before, Sanzo. That’s the envelope Kami has when he gives his reports—his kills—to that creep!”

“I’m quite aware.”

“Then why—!”

“Goku,” Hakkai interrupted with a soft smile, nodding and speaking with care, “if we make a scene now, it’d be like us declaring war on them when they haven’t done anything to us.”

“But they kill people!” Goku hissed. “If we don’t act now, then Dougan will—”

Hakkai shot Sanzo a look from the corner of his eye, frowning. “Sanzo, you just told Goku to stay calm. Why are you taking out your gun?”

“…for emergency.”

Hakkai heaved a sigh, and glanced at Gojyo, who gave him a shrug. Hakkai tapped his finger on his knee, holding back another sigh.

Trust his companions to always succumb to their temper.

“Sanzo, Goku. There are things in this world that can be solved without the means of violence. It doesn’t solve anything at all! Wars will only create more wars and—”

The sound of a scream startled the people in restaurant, halting Hakkai’s words to a stop—

—and all eyes fell on a lone man, at _Dougan_ , grinning and laughing while slicing at a woman’s arm just in front of Houtou House.

Dougan pushed the woman back into her Mazda 3 and drove away as Goku finally took his gun out and shot at the car’s window twice.

“Hakkai,” Sanzo growled as he loaded his M-36 and strode to his car, “save your fucking bystander apathy talk and get on with it. That fucker’s fired now.” Goku followed after Sanzo and they drove away, chasing after Dougan and his hostage.

“Hoo boy, Shien will have a field day in defending those two in court after this. Well, there’s room for two more. Maybe three,” Gojyo laughed out, and revved up his Ducati. Throwing a helmet to Hakkai’s hands, he donned his helmet and grinned, “Let’s go, Hakkai. Can’t just leave the fun to themselves, right?”

* * *

 

“Shoot his fucking head!”

“Sanzo, I can’t do that! He’s driving the car! The victim will get hurt! And others will get hurt! Which is what we’ve been trying to fucking avoid the whole fucking time!”

“Tch!”

Sanzo had his left arm stretched out, fingers grappling tight onto the back of Goku’s suit and belt as he drove the car faster. Feeling the blood pumping in his ears, Sanzo tuned out the roar of the engine from his mind as Goku kept half of his body out of the window, shooting at the car’s tires and hoping that it would stop Dougan from driving further.

It didn’t.

In the middle of the highway, Sanzo chased Dougan and his hostage down, swerving around the vehicles, pulling Goku back inside when he thought a truck or a car might hit him. It had been like this for the past hour. What prompted Dougan to act like a criminal as soon as he left Houtou, Sanzo didn’t know—

“I only needed a fucking list of names in the first place! Why’d he had to go and take a hostage like chickenshit?”

Goku returned to leaning half of his body out of the passenger side window—with Sanzo’s hand bunched up on the back of his clothes once again—and shot at the car’s left side mirror, “Sanzo, don’t put chickens and shit together! Now I need to eat!”

“We can eat once this fuck-up is over—” Sanzo glared at the car, and noticed it stuttering from the flat tires. “Get him! But don’t kill him yet!”

Goku grinned, aimed Sanzo’s PS90 at Dougan’s silhouette, and shot through the window, earning a bullet on the man’s shoulder.

The car slowed to a stop, avoiding a post by a hair’s breadth when it spiraled out of control—

Gojyo and Hakkai were already rounding up around the mangled vehicle by the time Sanzo and Goku got out, their guns raised as they waited for Dougan to come out—

When he did, Dougan greeted them with raised, quivering hands dyed in red, his blood-splattered face making Gojyo freeze.

The blood-dyed lips twitched as they stretched—Dougan’s teeth bared. His laugh, hollow and shrill. His steps, unsteady, his legs bowed as his cackling grew louder—

Hakkai peered through the passenger side window, and bit his lip.

Time seemed to stop, its hands melting and bleeding into a phantasmagorical mess of colors mashed together, its ticking mingling into a jumbled echo of turmoil from all around as they saw what was inside—

The hostage, the innocent woman—whose only crime had been passing by a deranged man—laid limp on the passenger seat, her body bloodied and unmoving from the multiple stab wounds on her chest and neck.

“I did it... I—did it—my first kill!” Dougan cackled, the sweat and blood flowing from his face, his smile—toothy and bloody—sending shivers down their spines.

Goku swallowed the bile threatening to leave his throat, and shot a bullet that zoomed past Dougan’s temple.

“Don’t. Move.”

The cackling stopped, and Dougan looked at him with wide, bloodshot eyes.

His eyes roved to a stone-faced Sanzo, who also had a gun raised to Dougan—

And Dougan cried as he laughed, and he ran his hands through his hair matted in blood and glass shards, sniffed it, and licked his digits—

—and he ran and stood on the edge of the bridge, with Gojyo acting on reflex, grabbing onto the killer—

Dougan’s laugh rang in the open air as he shrugged off his winter coat, crying as he ignored the yells from his dear president—

—and jumped into the open sea.

 


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember Yōu from episode one in Gensomaden? That cute little acolyte that practically worshipped Sanzo before he realized what a foul-mouthed monk Sanzo was? Yeah, that’s Youmei—literally means “young child”. I gave him that nickname because it would be hard to differentiate his name, Yōu, from the word “you”, hence, the little nickname. Kind of like how Koumyou used to be Houmei, huh?

When Sanzo had stared at the picture Goku had taken from Dougan’s apartment months ago, he knew it was going to be an unwanted pain in the neck.

Unending calls from the press urging Sanzo to talk about the incident at the bridge, anonymous mails from fans of Kinzan books sending their support, anonymous mails from who-knows-where sending their hate, Shien calling him for another trial for his innocence—

Sanzo had smoked his problems away, save for the times when he noticed Goku glaring at him from across the room. The only good that had come out of the entire thing was Kinzan had gained more publicity than ever. New throngs of writers have flocked to the publishing house, often telling the agents that they have gained inspiration from the heroic deeds that Sanzo and his assistant have done, and have opted to write their experience in novel form. The president threw the burdens at his staff, most of them to Homura, just to see the guy twitch in reluctant agreement.

Trusting no one but a select few from his own, Sanzo, his assistant, and his bodyguard have searched high and low for coffee shops in the districts surrounding Kinzan and Houtou, hoping to get a lead on where they supposed Dougan had worked. Some of the shop owners have told them that they have hired no such person as Go Dougan.

The three of them even went as far as returning to the strip club where they first saw Dougan talking with Ukoku—much to Sanzo’s vehement disgust at Gojyo’s prodding—only to find that they have never seen clients that looked like Dougan and Ukoku.

And that was when Sanzo thought something was amiss.

The blond did a search of his own, and found out that Dougan was being searched by people other than him, Goku, and Gojyo, months before Dougan had disappeared. The owners have described the person looking for Dougan as ‘some guy with black hair and glasses and with clothes that stank like a three-day-old pack of cigs’.

Sanzo hauled Goku and Gojyo to come with him on a reluctant journey with Kanzeon and her constantly agitated aide—knowing quite well that he needed her knowledge and her vast connections when it came to investigating potential threats to the company.

They exchanged theories about Dougan’s eventual breakdown, and the suspicious bugs found on his coat, and the president and the vice president concluded that they were Houtou’s devices. They also shared opinions on how and why Dougan snapped—and it all fell to nothing when Sanzo couldn’t come up with a decent conclusion until he heard Goku telling Kanzeon about the picture he found in Dougan’s room—

Sanzo paled, and ran his hand through his hair, groaning as he ignored the conversation in the car. Suppressing a sigh, he rested his elbow on the sill, and tapped his index to his lips. Sanzo knew about Ukoku having suspicions on Dougan prior to him getting into Houtou. Although, what were the chances that Ukoku might be watching from the sidelines? What if Dougan had been used? Sanzo knew how weak Dougan’s mentality could be at times, and that could be one reason he got brainwashed—

There was also the matter of the rise in killings in the districts after Dougan’s disappearance. Chances were high that his ex-employee survived and was probably killing people as they sniffed around for clues—either that, or it was that time when The Security reached its peak this month, and people were out to kill to retain their position in Houtou.

But what was it that attracted people to that vile place?

Sanzo let out a sigh as he glared at the trees they passed by, frowning upon seeing a big, red sign on a wall that said, ‘For Sale’.

Sanzo bit his inner cheek, and his eyes narrowed.

A faint thump landed on his left shoulder, and Sanzo craned his neck to see Goku leaning on him, the boy’s genial disposition currently simmered as he dozed off on the blond with his mouth partly opened.

Sighing and clicking his tongue, Sanzo tapped Goku’s chin close with his fingertip, and bit back the smallest ghost of a smile. Burying his hand in the lush mop of brown locks, the long, pale fingers peregrinated to the sleeping male’s temple and ear. The digits splayed on the warm scalp, the thumb whispering warmth on the flushed cheek. Sanzo patted Goku’s head one more time before looking out of the window again, ignoring the watchful stares from his aunt and his bodyguard.

Jiroushin, however, cleared his throat as he looked at Sanzo’s averted gaze through the rearview mirror. He raised his index, his mouth parted to speak, when a manicured nail poked at Jiroushin as soon as he craned his head around. The old man pursed his lips at his mistress, who winked and wagged a finger at him as she held another finger to her lips. Jiroushin took in a withheld sigh, and looked back at the road as Gojyo made a turn at a corner, whistling all the while.

Kanzeon didn’t fail to notice the muffled chuckles from the driver seat, where Gojyo’s shoulders jerked as he grinned. She glanced at her nephew, and smiled when she saw his left hand draped on Goku’s right palm, the latter still unaware in his sleep. “Konzen, dear?”

The blond hummed in response, but did not look at her, and Kanzeon surmised her nephew’s mercurial mood was at a current calm, judging by his lack of bite upon being called by his hated nickname.

“Have you been feeding Goku properly? He looks rather glum lately, I can tell, even if he’s smiling.” Kanzeon glanced at the sleeping teen, and she frowned, “Give yourselves time to rest when you can. Can’t have you running the house looking like a raccoon.” And she grinned behind red-painted nails, “Your eyes will get droopier.”

“Bah, look who’s talking,” Sanzo snorted, and he looked at his smug aunt. “What? If you’re talking about Goku, he’s doing fine. With all the shit in Kinzan, we’ve been getting less sleep. He keeps coming at 4am to do paperwork even when I told him not to.”

“Why? He’s your assistant. Why keep him from his work?”

He clicked his tongue, brows furrowing as he looked away, “Who on earth barges inside rooms at 4am when work starts at eight?” His lip curled into a snarl, almost bristling when he saw Gojyo grin through the wing mirror, “Stop leering, lecher!”

“Fine, you’re concerned about his being. But you do feed him, yes?” came Kanzeon’s question laced with mirth. She observed his scoffs, and twirled a lock of her black hair around her finger, her lips jutting in a playful pout, “I didn’t give my child to you just so you can starve him.”

Sanzo turned to his aunt with renewed ire, “Last time I checked, you didn’t give birth to anyone—you gave Goku to me out of your own volition. Also, why are you nosy?”

Kanzeon gave her nephew a tightlipped smile, her violet eyes drifting to Goku’s necklace for a moment too long, before looking back at her flustered nephew.

“No reason,” she said, shrugging. “Goku had been sick for almost half of the winter season, you know how it happens every year. I was worried if you’ve been taking care of my child properly.”

“Like I said, when did you give birth to him...? Tsk—to answer your question, he’s been chowing down my food supply like no tomorrow. Besides, he wouldn’t be here if I didn’t take care of him.” Sanzo’s eye twitched as he noticed his aunt’s silent smile, and looked away, not before tightening his hold on Goku’s palm.

“How about his necklace, is he taking care of it? It was supposed to be yours, you know. But he doesn’t know that.” She smiled and waved her hand with a shrug, to which Sanzo frowned. “Oh, Homura never told you?”

“No,” he grumbled with a dismissive snort, shifting on his seat as he looked away, “well, he might have. Maybe I cut him off without me knowing. Wait. What the fuck did that even change?”

Kanzeon giggled, its sound a quiet whisper of irritation grating on Sanzo’s ears, “Maybe nothing changed. Or maybe everything changed. Take it as you will. Now, now, Konzen. Don’t look at me like that.”

Despite her words, Sanzo harrumphed and glared at her, snorting when she laughed.

All the while, Kanzeon’s gaze remained at Sanzo’s hand clasped onto Goku’s.

“Maybe something did change,” she whispered behind her hand, smiling as Sanzo looked away with a faint blush on his cheeks, mumbling all the while.

“Stupid, cryptic hag.”

She laughed, and gazed at her favorite child and her nephew with half-lidded eyes.

* * *

Kanzeon sat in her office, smiling as she downed a cup of sake. The cool, spring air bit her tendrils of hair, tickling her nape as she suppressed a giggle while looking at her monitor.

“Found something funny?” Sanzo asked, not looking up from the book he was reading. The shelves in Kanzeon’s office were filled to the brim with informational books, as they have always been. It was a stark contrast to the sole shelf Sanzo had back in his apartment. He heard the sound of a mouse clicking in succession, and he gave her a sidelong glance through his glasses. “Is it something I’m not supposed to see?”

She looked up from her monitor, then back at the screen, and giggled. “Probably,” she let out in between muffled laughter, and when he fully turned to glare at her, she guffawed. “Oh, pish-posh, it was nothing!” She clicked her mouse one last time, released it, and smiled sweetly at her suspicious nephew. “Never mind me, Konzen. How’s our guest doing?”

“He’s in your parlor, playing games with the monkey and the undine. What more do you want to know?”

“Oh, anything, I say,” she said, waving her hand off, her stacked bracelets clinking against her wrist. “He’s been good during his whole stay with us. But now, I need him to be useful.”

“I’m working on that as we speak,” Sanzo replied as he closed the book and placed it back on the shelf. He plucked another book, one that caught his eye, and opened the first page, “I didn’t bring him here on a whim, you know.”

Kanzeon hummed, and took out a file of documents from her desk drawer, “Here, Konzen. I’ll give this to you. Hakkai had a hard time trying to contact any of her family, but...”

“No one came to identify her, and we had to get authorities dig through her bloody car because it was a fucking crime scene,” he harrumphed, and slammed the book shut. Going over to where the folder laid, Sanzo’s brows furrowed, a question forming on his lips as he pointed at the documents. “What good will that do to me?”

“It might come in handy someday. Our subordinate killed a completely innocent person—a woman. And I know you well, you hate seeing innocent people killed—especially women.”

She watched as Sanzo gritted his teeth and growled at her, and she laughed off his well-placed ire, opting not to say anything about the matter.

“I want to see Dougan behind bars. Either that, or to see my nails buried in his neck for shaming Kinzan. He took files from Houtou, that I assure you. And he took them with him to where he jumped off that bridge. If those were the files which had the list of names we have been trying to get our hands on, then I’m afraid I have to claw it out from his body if I ever see him. If not, then I’ll make him pay for what he did, and then claw his stupid brain out of his body.”

“Well, aren’t you merciless.”

“Hah, I’m far from that, Konzen, dear. Very, very far from that.”

* * *

In the parlor, Goku sat on the floor with Gojyo and Zakuro, all of them looking at blueprints lying in front of them. Zakuro bent over the blueprints with a red pen in hand, and scribbled words on the labeled rooms on the plans. By the doorway stood Jiroushin, looking over them in silence.

Along with Sanzo’s orders and pulling strings on his own, Gojyo had managed to get specific blueprints from a man who squealed. When Zakuro declared the blueprints new and authentic, Gojyo had reported to Sanzo, and the president, in turn, made Gojyo and Goku guard over Zakuro during their stay in Kanzeon’s mansion.

Zakuro encircled and drew arrows and made notes on some of the rooms. On some rooms, he drew a cross over them, and made further notes. Goku, meanwhile, recorded everything with much stealth on his phone, his hand remaining steady on his left knee as he chatted with Zakuro in his usual cheer. Gojyo, too, tried to be stealthy, with taking notes on his own, although failing miserably, from Goku’s observation. Gojyo had his right arm behind him, his hand holding a small pencil, and made notes on a piece of paper stuck under his feet. He twiddled his toes, trying to get some circulation back on his legs, but to no avail.

Goku noted the discomfort on Gojyo’s face, but made no comment on it. He himself couldn’t move from where he sat, taking his filming as a current priority.

And when Zakuro leaned back and stretched his arms overhead, he deemed it done—and a fumbling Goku and a suffering Gojyo finally breathed a sigh of relief. Goku stopped recording, and Gojyo stopped taking notes behind his back.

“So, you’re sure that all of that is accurate? You’re not lying to us?” Goku quizzed Zakuro, his usual cheer buried under the guise of a stern façade. Zakuro looked somehow offended, pouting and putting his hands on his hips as he huffed.

“Of course, I’m not lying. Why would I lie? I told you before, boy. I want to see Houtou in ashes for what they’ve done to me.”

“Still, man,” Gojyo began, his hands fumbling behind his back as he shoved the pencil and paper inside his back pocket, “ya gotta admit, if our ol’ Homura had simply thrown you out of our premises, you would’ve been dead by now.”

“I would be, wouldn’t I,” Zakuro whispered, bowing his head as he blankly stared at the blueprints. “But even so, I want them to pay me back. Never mind the house that they gave me when I got into Houtou, I just want—”

Gojyo shook his feet as he crossed his legs, and he held out his palm at Zakuro’s words, “Whoa, wait, wait, wait. Houtou gave you _a house_? A real, fucking, _house_?”

Zakuro blinked and tilted his head, and he nodded, “Ah, yes, they did—it’s actually a secret from people outside the company, but Houtou gives you a house if you work with them. They wouldn’t tell you that when you applied to them, though.”

“What type of work?” Gojyo and Goku said in unison, cutting off and startling Zakuro at the same time.

Straightening his back and heaving a deep breath, Zakuro gulped, “By work, I mean the Security work. Starting on the day when you accepted the key to the modest house that they gave you, you have to protect it at any cost, along with a written agreement that you’ll never say anything about the property to anyone else. Tell anyone about it, and you’re dead. Try to get away from Houtou after acquiring the house, and you’re dead. Accepting it is the only option. Soon, you’ll get to have ‘permission’ to take your co-worker’s life, and you get to have the house that Houtou gave to them, as well. After that, you’ll get the option to keep the house and its property or sell it. Most people would sell it and take the money as their own and have their own house renovated—like I did—but some keep it as a second house, which then becomes a problem. Because no one would supervise it on a regular basis.”

Gojyo and Goku looked at each other, and then—

“Why would that be a problem?” Goku asked, his thumb now back on recording their conversation.

“If no one supervises the second house, some people from Houtou might break in and stay there until the owner returns, to where everything becomes bloody. And if the one who broke in was a civilian? Then you get... paid—because you killed. But you won’t get the victim’s property, of course. Houtou covers it up as an accident, a justified defense. How? I never knew. And then after some time, Houtou will blackmail the employee who killed. A bounty will be placed on the employee’s head without the employee knowing it, only the others within the company will know of it. If—if the employee gets killed by another one from Houtou, then the bounty, along with the properties the employee had, will be transferred to the one who killed said employee.”

Silence fell in the room, not even Jiroushin moved from where he stood, and simply stared at the back of Zakuro’s head, the old man’s mouth hanging open at the tanned blond’s words. Gojyo’s shoulders tensed, his eyes staring at Zakuro’s solemn countenance, searching for any hint that his words might—

“That’s a joke, right? That… that’s fucking messed up. What the fuck.”

Goku, however, stopped recording on his phone once more, his expression the epitome of calm and level-headedness, a rare sight even to Gojyo.

The door to the living room opened, and in came Sanzo looking grim, his purple eyes glaring straight at Zakuro. “So I’m right. Houtou runs on blackmail and a sick version of carrot-and-stick. Don’t look fucking surprised, Zakuro. I’ve been listening the whole damn time.” He took out a smoke, waving a flippant hand to where a peeved Kanzeon stood beside a sputtering Jiroushin, and this time, even Goku let it slide. Sanzo sat on a plush chair behind Goku, his legs crossed, and pointed his cigarette at Zakuro.

“I’ll take your words as a confession. Now tell me—do you know the location where Houtou and Godworks keep their list of the victims’ names?”

* * *

“No.”

“Come on, Sanzo! I have done this before in Godworks, let me do it!”

“ _No._ ”

“Well, why the fuck not!?”

Sanzo rolled his eyes and sighed, and turned around to look at Goku, huffing his reddened cheeks as he tried and failed to glare down at the taller man. “Because, stupid imp, Godworks is on a fucking different level than Houtou. You’re not doing it. I’ll find someone else to do it.” His eyes roamed around the streets, checking to see if anyone tried listen in on them, and noticed no one. He turned on his heel and walked away, leaving Goku stomping his way down, following the blond.

Clutching onto the man’s coat, Goku pouted, “You did that once, and look what happened! Sanzo, I need you to let me do this!”

“Goku, we’re not having this conversation in the middle of the fucking street where people can fucking hear us.” Sanzo walked faster, clicking his tongue when he heard the hurried steps and the ceaseless whines from behind.

He heard the heavy stomping, the familiar grumbling, Goku’s muffled voice bubbling behind scrunched lips, its sound like that of a kettle about to burst with the restless, drawn out whistling—

“Sanzo, you big, _stupid, stupid jerk_! At least tell me why you won’t let me do my job of assisting you like I’m supposed to do! I want to help you, you stupid boss! Don’t clam up on me like how I—mmph!”

Sanzo whipped around—red-faced—and slapped Goku’s mouth shut with his hand, his face mere inches from the startled brunet. “Oh, you sly _little shit_ ,” he began, his right eye twitching as he placed his forehead to Goku’s, “trying to pull _that_ on me when we’re in fucking public? Didn’t I just tell you—we’re not having this conversation in the middle of the fucking _street_. Do you understand what I mean?”

Goku’s wide eyes searched Sanzo’s intently, his breathing ragged from his outburst. Sanzo didn’t remove his hand from Goku’s mouth until the teen’s shoulders sagged, and he nodded quickly.

The blond pulled back, glared down at the blinking teen, and finally removed his hand from Goku’s mouth, only to see the smaller man grinning up at him, his previous bout of ire now gone.

“So, when will you tell me? Huh? Huh?” Goku was back to his jovial self, his bright eyes widening and his feet bouncing as he scooted over to Sanzo, standing on his tiptoes and nuzzling his hair to Sanzo’s chin as the latter gritted his teeth.

“Probably when we’re back at home. Come on.” Sanzo sighed and turned away, and hummed when he heard the smaller man running up to him. Feeling brave, Goku bit his lip, and linked their arms as closely as they walked.

Sanzo said nothing, and Goku grinned, his eyes scanning all the bakeries and restaurants and the people they passed by. “You know, a few months ago, you would have flipped out if I did this,” he muttered, glancing up at Sanzo’s stoic face every now and then. The blond didn’t look at him, but Goku saw the minute jutting of lower lip as the blond idly looked at the busy streets.

“Stop bringing up the past, idiot.”

Goku chortled behind his hand, and said nothing more. Often, he’d find himself nudging his head to Sanzo’s shoulder, to which the latter ignored aside from muttered grunts. When they returned to Kinzan, they were met with three trucks parked in front of the building, with men in blue jackets and blue caps bringing in carts of boxes.

“Delivery today, huh,” Goku mumbled, bowing slightly to one of the men he passed by. “Sorry for the trouble,” he said to one of the delivery men, and the man tipped his head and bowed. Goku glanced back at Sanzo, where the blond spared the delivery men a nod as a quiet commendation. Taking the elevator, they talked in hushed tones as Goku pushed the ‘close’ button.

One delivery man pulling on a cart of boxes hollered at Goku to stop the elevator, and when he did, the man pushed the trolley and excused himself, apologizing as he placed the cart inside. Goku smiled, and faced the elevator doors with his hands behind his back as he kept Sanzo behind him.

They remained silent for the ride, with Sanzo and Goku looking at their reflections, and with the delivery man fiddling with a piece of paper.

“Excuse me—sorry to bother you, sir, but where is the Sales Department?” The man looked at Goku as he wiped the sweat from his jaw, gulping when the two men looked at him. “Um—”

“Twenty-first floor. Which division are you going to deliver that to?” came Sanzo’s curt reply, eyeing the man with his usual suspicion.

“N-National Account Managing, si—”

“Twenty-first floor, the second door you see as soon as you exit this elevator.”

The delivery man said his thanks, and muttered Sanzo’s words in undertone. When he reached his destination, he pushed on the carts and got off, bidding the men goodbye.

As soon as the elevator doors closed, Goku’s smile turned into a sly grin as he nudged Sanzo’s arm. “That was a first. You offering help to someone.”

“Fuck off. I do that all the time.”

“No, you don’t.”

“Yes, I do. You mooch off me all the time, barge in my room all the time—you don’t hear me complaining.”

“But, Sanzo, you just did. Now, only if you just allow me to go, we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”

Sanzo glared down at a beaming Goku, and their daily banter began, even as they reached the 23rd floor and saw people on the way. The people bowed and greeted them, and among them was the new addition to Kinzan, Yōu, or as the president called him—Youmei.

Youmei greeted the president and his feisty assistant, albeit the two of them ignored him in favor of throwing banters at each other’s faces as they walked by. “Are they always like that?” Youmei wondered out loud to some of the gaggle of women ogling at the president and his assistant. One of the women nodded, and Youmei glanced at how physically close they were, with their arms almost glued to each other. “Isn’t that the president’s room, though? Why is Mr. Goku the one opening the door?”

One of the women smiled at Youmei, “The president’s PA always has complete access to the president’s room—it’s one of the rules here since the company started decades ago. Kinzan’s presidents have always been lenient on their assistants, too, and President Genjo is no different.”

“Ah, and even if President Genjo is like that,” one woman leaned to Youmei, glancing at where Sanzo and Goku have disappeared to, “he has his soft side, too. It’s just not that obvious. Plus, Mr. Goku also gets to have the job we all want.”

“Oh? What is it?” Youmei asked, smiling at her seniors.

The women giggled to themselves before one of them bit back her grin and waved a finger at Youmei’s nose, “He gets to be with the president all day, everyday—even when there’s no work day. Sure it’s inevitable that they see each other, gentry like us live here, after all. But if look at them and tell me you don’t notice anything between them, I wouldn’t believe you.”

“Every senior around here knew that when Mr. Goku was an intern here, he got under President Genjo’s skin, and yet, he wasn’t kicked out. That’s when their daily squabbles started. How Mr. Goku remained in Kinzan, we only assume it’s because he can stand up to the president and insult him on his face.”

“Plus, Mr. Goku is cute. And the president likes him back. They’re pretty much a cat-and-dog pair since they met, but they always manage to pull through.”

Youmei blinked, surprised at the information. He let out a single, breathless squeak as a reply, before a crash came heading to his way, the sound of cardboards and falling books tumbling against the unsuspecting young man.

* * *

Inside Sanzo’s apartment, Tama ate on her bowl of food with her tail swishing in slow waves, aware but ignoring her owners’ escalating conversation on the dining table. Sanzo and Goku have been talking for some time now, with Sanzo trying hard not to lash out much at the younger man, and with Goku trying hard not to whine and plead for Sanzo to let him in for a task.

Sanzo talked about the option of failing again, deciding to find another person suitable for the job of taking the list instead, a method that Goku was too adamant to refuse to take, telling Sanzo that—

“Sanzo, I’ve been asking you for days! Why can’t you just let me do it?”

“And if you end up like Dougan? What, then? I’m not thrilled at the fucking idea of me dragging your body from a sewer because of a fuck up.”

“Sanzo, I’m telling you I won’t fuck up!”

“No, I won’t allow it.”

“Sanzo!”

The scraping of chair’s legs against the floor startled the cat, and it wrapped its tail around itself as it ate, its ears twitching for any further sign of disturbance.

“I won’t have it,” Sanzo hissed, his jaw tense as he walked over to where Goku sat. Crouching beside him, he winced when he noticed the bright, golden eyes were near tears from all the quarrels they have had since leaving Kanzeon’s residence a week ago. Gritting his teeth, Sanzo dug his hands in Goku’s shoulders, forcing the teen to face him through angry, would-be tears. “I can’t,” he whispered through ragged breaths, his voice raspy and weary from all the yelling, and he felt Goku’s shoulders shake, and he was sure that the boy would cry.

“You’re… scared, aren’t you? That I might not get away from them alive?” Goku’s words were silent as he pulled Sanzo’s hands away from his shoulders and held them close to his cheek. Sanzo’s cold gaze turned away from the warm stare, his lips curling from words he bit back—and Goku held his hands tighter until Sanzo looked at him again with reluctance. “Tell me, Sanzo—you fear for my life, don’t you? Is that why you won’t let me? Sanzo, please. _Tell me_.”

The urgency in Goku’s quiet request didn’t budge Sanzo to speak, but instead, the blond closed his eyes and swallowed a lump in his throat. All the while, Goku noticed the growing coldness on Sanzo’s hands, and he rubbed them together on repeat, placing them on his lips when they were warm enough. When Sanzo finally opened his eyes, he saw Goku frowning at him, the tears that have been welling up from the corners of his eyes now dried as he held Sanzo’s hands in his.

“I know you well, Sanzo. You have been nothing but kind to me my whole life. I know you’re being kind to me now by not allowing me to go to Houtou, but… if I can’t go there, who will? If we can’t have evidence, then how can we help the very people that we’ve been trying to help with Kinzan for all these years?”

“Goku, I can’t—”

“You _won’t_. I know. You won’t sacrifice me, not after what happened,” Goku said with a small smile. He sighed, and wrapped his arms around the agitated man’s neck, cradling Sanzo close to his chest. “But what else can we do, Sanzo? It’s either we attack them, or they attack us.”

“I’ll think of another way, then,” Sanzo said in a quiet voice, the words muffled against the crook of Goku’s neck, frowning at the feel of the cold gold biting his forehead. “I’ll think of another way,” he repeated, his words a reassurance more to himself than to Goku.

Feeling the embrace tighten around his shoulders and the familiar fingers thread through his hair, Sanzo closed his eyes shut, and wrapped his arms around Goku’s waist, thinking that maybe, just maybe, there was another way to get out of the mess they have been in for a long time.

They reconciled that night, with Goku lying on the bed, laughing and crying as he hugged Sanzo until the latter snorted and grunted his words away, choosing to let his actions speak as he held him tight, and buried himself inside Goku, his fingers clawing onto the edges of the mattress, his teeth gritting in response to the nails digging onto his scarred back, his brows furrowing as the warmth beneath him moved with his own. And Goku finally allowed his tears to fall as his mouth fell open and his head fell back, exposing his neck for Sanzo to pepper it with bites and licks and hot breath fanning over the heated skin. Hands quivered as they wove their way to tangled, damp locks. Lips trembled as they sought for each other’s heat, their dampened lashes trailing butterfly kisses along their skin, their teeth nipping on the sensitive ridges of their ears—

Whispered pants crept to their lips, with Sanzo’s breathless gasps and Goku’s choked cries bouncing off from the walls. Their mouths met in a silent, hungry kiss—the tongues sliding along with their muffled groans and suppressed whimpers. When they pulled away, their eyes met for the briefest of moments, and they reeled themselves back into their deepening kisses and escalating thrusts, refusing to stop even if their shuddering hearts begged them to.

Sanzo returned and released his white-knuckled grip from the edge of the mattress, and buried his hand in Goku’s hair, wrapping the other around the undulating hips below him. His face fell on the pillow, muffling his stuttered gasps as he swallowed the saliva pooling from his mouth, and hissed with every lunge, making Goku emit a string of garbled cries and incoherent words—each syllable of pain-riddled pleasure from Goku inciting Sanzo to go even deeper—

Their mouths fell into a silent cry, their toes curling and their bodies stuttering to a halt as they came in unison—and only when it was over did Sanzo try to move, only for Goku to stop him with a sated smile as trembling hands met Sanzo’s flushed and damp cheeks.

“Don’t move just yet,” he said in a quiet voice, gazing up at the blond’s breathless form as he moved Sanzo’s stray hairs from his brow, “I want to feel you more.”

Sanzo grunted, blinked away the sweat from his lashes, and gave Goku a tired smile before kissing him on the forehead. Holding him tight, Sanzo stayed on top of Goku as long as the brunet wanted to.

They fell asleep soon after Goku had struggled to put decent covers on themselves, and when they have drifted off to rest, a curious Tama entered the room, looking around as she snuck in and jumped at the bottom of the bed, curling up and joining in on her owners’ peaceful sleep.

* * *

Sanzo tried to shrug off the silence hanging over his apartment the following Sunday morning. Goku had left minutes ago to meet up with Youmei about ‘something important’, or so he said. They were supposed to meet up at the cake shop Sanzo had frequented with Goku. The blond had requested—demanded—for a cake, one that Goku was too happy to oblige. A blueberry cheesecake should do the trick of relieving his back pain as he hunched over his paperwork.

Behind him, Tama lounged on the bed, pawing at the blankets every few seconds. He didn’t mind the mild scuffle, but when he heard the sound of claws on the headboard, he had to look behind him to see in the bed was still intact. Sighing, he returned to his work, double-checking to see that Goku’s share of work was impeccable—save for the sloppy handwriting scribbled on some of the white spaces on the paper—and once satisfied, Sanzo studied them all for the final time before typing everything on his laptop, trying to ignore the seemingly loud ticking of the bedside clock.

The hours seemed longer, and the air seemed quieter and heavier when his pet was out and away.

Clicking his tongue, Sanzo creaked his neck every now and then, moving around only when he needed to take a drink or to go to the bathroom. When noon rolled by, Sanzo was about to start on a new set of document-writing on his laptop when he heard the front door open, along with the familiar voice filled with joy.

Hearing the happiness in Goku’s voice made Sanzo lean back on his chair and sigh in relief. Gone was its tone filled with anger and sadness that filled Sanzo’s mind for the past few days.

That voice should always remain cheerful, he mused with a hum.

Just like that, the air suddenly felt lighter, less stifling than the hours he spent typing away on his work.

He heard his name being called without fail, and Sanzo didn’t respond as he closed his eyes. He’d hear that ceaseless voice again, awakening him even if he didn’t want to be disturbed. Sanzo figured—it had to be that way—

—to keep himself from going insane.

“There you are! I’ve got the cake! You haven’t stood up since I left, haven’t you.”

“Wrong, stupid,” Sanzo huffed as he took a gulp of a cup of tea. Goku shrugged, and went over to the blond, hugging him from behind.

“Take a rest, you need it,” Goku suggested, pulling Sanzo’s hands away from the keyboard, only for the latter to return them immediately. He pouted at the stubborn blond, yet grinned when he noticed Sanzo fighting back a snort through tensed jaws. “Guess what,” Goku started, kissing Sanzo on the temple and lowering his voice as he tightened his hug around the man’s shoulders, “I won’t be asking that question anymore if you really don’t want me to.”

Goku failed to see Sanzo’s lips twitch in a small smile as he ruffled the mussed up, brown locks. The brunet buried his face on the pale neck and smiled through sniffles—

“Let’s not fight like that anymore. It hurts my throat. And it feels like my insides were being squeezed.”

Sanzo didn’t say anything, but kept scratching lightly at Goku’s hair. When he did reply in a form of a quiet hum, he sighed, and stared blankly at his computer screen, “Can’t say we won’t.” Pecking him on the temple, he huffed, “You’re stubborn.”

“But you’re stubborn, too,” Goku retorted with a pout, grinning only when he was given a sidelong glance from those purple eyes. “I like all of you, though—so I can’t be completely angry at you for a long time.”

Sanzo’s snort tickled Goku’s arm, and he gave him a small smile, “Is that so? In that case, where’s my cake?”

Goku laughed, and led Sanzo into the kitchen where they ate their food. In between forkfuls of cake and sips of tea, they talked, and Goku told Sanzo about how Youmei have had trouble with finding his keycard after they had seen him yesterday afternoon. Youmei had, according to Goku, stayed over with one of the male editors for the night.

“I told him that he can get a temporary key from the reception until a replacement is made, so I guess he’d be getting a temp key for three days until he gets a new keycard. Downside is, he’d always go to the reception to give up the key if he wanted to leave the premises for a few hours, and only get it back when he returns. Kinzan’s first presidents sure thought it through so the employees won’t lose their keycards from sloppiness and negligence.”

Sanzo slid his tongue on his upper teeth, and pondered over Goku’s words as he stared at his half-empty plate, “Did he remember when he last had it after he saw us?”

Biting the tines of the fork, Goku stayed silent for a few moments, and then—

“He said after talking to the secretaries, one of the delivery men pulling on the cart of books bumped into him. Youmei and the secretaries helped the poor guy rearrange the boxes and the delivery guy went on his way.”

Sanzo’s eyebrow rose, and looked at Goku’s scrunching face, “Oh? And what was a delivery man doing in the residence area? Did he ask?”

“No—but one of the secretaries did. Said the guy was lost. I mean, this place is huge, so it’s possible—…you’re suspicious of something, aren’t you? I know that look.”

Sipping on his tea, Sanzo looked away, and toyed with his cake, “Not suspicious, really. But you’ll never know. Ah, did you remember what the guy looked like? The one who was with us in the elevator? Could be him.”

Pursing his lips, Goku shook his head, “Nah, can’t even remember what he looked like. You?”

“Can’t remember the guy, either. But the one we saw was headed for the National Account Managing Division. The 21st and the 28th floor has a pretty huge gap to get lost to, if you ask me.”

“Maybe the guy was heading for the Legal Department?”

“Feh. That’s on the 20th floor, idiot. That’s even farther than—besides, what business does the delivery man have with the Legal Department? Their only destination is on the Sales, and the Marketing Departments, nowhere else.”

Goku chewed on the last bit of his cake, poking the inside of his cheek with his tongue, “Yeah—guess you’re right. Ah, Sanzo. You’re not eating that—I’ll take it—geh! You ate it! Stingy!”

Ignoring Goku’s empty threats of stealing his food, Sanzo eyed the newspaper sitting beside him as he drank the last gulp of his tea, his gaze fixated on the headline in the Business section— _Expansion of Godworks Publishing House Temporarily Ceased_.

“‘Ceased’, huh.”

“Did you say something, Sanzo?”

“No,” Sanzo muttered, his eyes narrowing at the overlooking photo of the publishing house, “nothing at all.”

* * *

In order to avoid another scandal and further shame in Kinzan, Sanzo executed an order to have all employees take another mental status exam, the previous one having been taken after they were hired. When Sanzo—and mostly Goku—have read the results within a week, only then did Sanzo riddle the psychiatrist over the phone with questions—

“Are they reliable? Accurate? How sure are you that no one lied?”

And the psychiatrist’s answer was always the same—the employees were all in good mental health.

Satisfied for the time being, Sanzo hung up the phone and called for a meeting for the entire staff, ordering them to keep a close watch on any suspicious and possible destructive behavior from any of their co-workers.

“Before you report your co-worker directly to me,” Sanzo deadpanned as he looked at the seated crowd in front of him, narrowing his eyes at one of the employees raising his hand, “make sure that it’s definitely serious, and don’t report them to me because you have a shitty grudge over them for taking your lunch or your damn pen when you’re not looking.”

The man in the crowd lowered his hand, and chuckles from all around could be heard.

“Any more questions—? No, Odd Eyes, not you. Ah, Goujun?”

The executive editor stood up and went over to the podium, his face stern as he inched closer to the mic and faced the president, “Will you also give orders to us, sir, to capture the one that shamed Kinzan?”

The hall fell silent, and even Kanzeon, who had been talking with Jiroushin, stopped and looked at her nephew from where she sat at the front, her violet eyes reflecting amusement, her lips curling into a smile as she anticipated what Kinzan’s president would say.

The crowd watched as Sanzo opened and closed his mouth, contemplating what he should reply to Goujun’s blunt question. When Sanzo had returned to the podium, his reply was curt—

“No. I won’t be having you chase down a man who’s probably rotting under the sea. The rule is absolute—unless a direct, fatal attack on anyone residing in Kinzan occurs, we are not to hunt down anyone. And until we see a chink in Houtou’s armor of concealing evidence of the killings over the years, we won’t be declaring war against it.”

Goujun squared his shoulders and bowed, “Yes, sir.” He returned to his seat, and talked amongst his other fellow editors, and shushed them all up.

The meeting ended with a word of caution given to the employees, and when most of the people have left the hall, the few who stayed behind approached the president and bowed low before him.

“President Genjo, please give us the order to get you the list of the victims’ names from our rival companies!”

Furrowing his brow, Sanzo scoffed and regarded his bowing subordinates with confusion, “Who the fuck told you that?”

“I did, Konzen. I figured you need some help after that fiasco last year.”

Snarling as he turned to a smiling Kanzeon, he growled at her, “Hag, I don’t care if you’re my fucking aunt, consult major shit with me before you blab your mouth to anyone who’s not related to the case!”

“Oh,” Kanzeon started as she looked at her nails with much feigned interest, “but they _are_ related to the case. Anyone who is a member of this company is related to the case. Since you wouldn’t allow _someone_ to take over, I figured more heads are better than one.”

Glancing at Goku standing beside Gojyo, Sanzo fumed, “You asked her to tell them, didn’t you?”

Blinking, Goku shook his head, his face devoid of any surprise, “No, I didn’t.”

“I did it by myself, Konzen, since I know how stubborn you can be,” Kanzeon let out with a lilting laugh. “Give them a chance—a fresh mindset might open new possibilities for us to attack Houtou when it least expects it.”

Growling, Sanzo whipped his head to his still bowing subordinates. “Raise your heads,” he commanded, and they did. He noticed that they were some of the editors under Goujun’s department, and also with them were Sanzo’s secretaries, and the new addition to the Buddhist Fiction department, Yōu.

“And what the hell do you suppose you can do to get the list?” Sanzo snarled. He ignored the glare Goku was sending his way—Sanzo could tell his assistant was still a bit sore about the topic despite not bringing it up anymore, but Sanzo couldn’t help it. His aunt had to spill out everything to unrelated people—

“We can be the president’s undercover,” said one of the editors. “We can even track down that traitor of a man if you want, President Genjo—”

“There would be no need for that shit,” Sanzo snapped, and glared at a sighing Kanzeon. “I’m not going to lose another of my staff for a futile mission. If I can’t get that damn list, then I’ll find another method to capture Houtou in the act.”

Tapping her forefinger on her hip, Kanzeon frowned, “Suit yourself, Konzen. But I’m telling you, that growing list is vital to our case.”

Sanzo harrumphed, and stormed away from his aunt, “Goku, Gojyo!”

The assistant and the bodyguard trailed after Sanzo, leaving the editors and the vice president frowning as the president walked away.

* * *

Months rolled by, with Sanzo juggling work and investigation most of his days. He had tried the reasonable methods he could think of—

He had tried making the incarcerated men who had stabbed Sanzo confess about the whereabouts of the list of names, only for them to attempt to bite their tongues off—and ended up in the hospital, alive, but now without the ability to speak. A regretful Hakkai then tried to remedy it with all that he could, but all ended in vain when the men managed to assault a nurse and rummaged through her pockets—and injected their palates with large syringes filled with Pavulon, and died within hours.

Sanzo grew even more irritated when he heard the news.

He then tried making Zakuro return to Houtou with the help of a prosthetic mask, only for that idea to be shot down when Gojyo notified Sanzo about Houtou’s recently installed retinal scanner before entering the building.

Running out of ideas, Sanzo mulled over a surprise infiltration, but ended up tearing at his hair when his conclusions always fell to his subordinates being used as bait and might probably end up dead.

“Fuck!”

It was times like these when Goku would stop whatever it was that he was doing around the apartment, and would attempt to lessen Sanzo’s problems with food and an occasional drink. Other times, Goku would simply sit by Sanzo’s legs, content on leaning his head on the pajama-clad thigh. He’d receive a harrumph here and there, but nothing out of the ordinary aside from the resigned sighs and the moments of hair ruffling he’d get.

There were also days when Hakkai, Gojyo, and even Zakuro, would drop by for a visit—often urged by Goku—so they could have a few rounds of drinks. Goku knew Sanzo needed rest, as the workload was taking its toll. With the steady rise in killings in the district—along with the police’s cowardice of butting heads against the evasive and muck-raking people in Houtou and its subsidiaries—Sanzo felt a constant need to strangle someone, and Goku had to keep constant watch over his boss.

Some days, it was Kanzeon and Jiroushin who visited them, with the vice president often poking fun at her struggling nephew.

“You’re not helping, you fishwife of an aunt!” Sanzo would say, only for Kanzeon to retort with a laugh and a playful pinch to Sanzo’s cheeks. Goku thought it was funny, but Sanzo thought otherwise.

There were times when Sanzo wanted to be alone, and sought advice from the ash-filled urn, the minutes passing by with only Sanzo talking to himself as he looked at the picture of his late foster father. The cat also helped, as much as Sanzo wanted to deny its furry presence. Goku, on the other hand, would return to his flat below and clean up everything, and cook food for himself, and played video games while waiting for the food to cook. And he’d always return to Sanzo with a fresh batch of desserts to cheer the grumpy man up.

On some nights, Sanzo allowed himself to let loose under Goku’s touch, succumbing deeper with each pant and gasp as Goku bathed him in constant warmth—the ardent embraces, the heavy kisses, and the quiet words shielding Sanzo from the bite of the chilly, autumn air.

November came and went, and Sanzo cursed his age the day time added another line to his life—“Twenty-five years and I still can’t fucking take down that shithole!”

Through it all, Goku stood by him, constantly prodding him away from the downward spiral of Sanzo’s growing, cynical thoughts.

“Sanzo! You turned down another client? That’s the second time this week!”

Goku had barged in on the office and saw Sanzo muttering as he read a manuscript on the desk. Seeing that he would be ignored, Goku leaned on the doorway with his arms crossed, his pout hidden behind his face mask. “Sanzo.”

“The fucker asked me if I had ‘a thing for colors and home décor’, and wanted to make me a poster boy for interior design for her book idea,” Sanzo growled without looking up from the manuscript.

“...oh. Well, in that case, good thing you kicked her out, then,” Goku said, his laugh muffled behind the mask. Winter was drawing near, and he had to double his work before he got hit with the fever and cold.

“Damn right. Oh, right. Goku, give me a copy of Zakuro’s manuscript. He gave it to you the other day, right? I already have the proposal. The hag already had a pseudonym for him and he’s supposed to get his work published in Keiun for the meantime. I’m supposed to meet up with the heads in Keiun in a few hours. You’re going with me, naturally.”

“The manuscript… the manuscript… Uh yeah, I think that’s with me. Huh. Right. Um. Okay, I’ll get it, Sanzo!” With a salute and a wide grin behind his mask, Goku closed the door and left Sanzo alone in his office, only to open it again. “We’ll eat hot pot tonight, by the way!” he cheered, and when Sanzo looked up, the blond nodded, and Goku giggled.

Goku closed the door, unaware of Sanzo hiding a smile behind his hand.

“Silly monkey.”

Outside Sanzo’s office, Goku sniffled every few seconds as he dug around his cluttered desk, fishing out envelope after envelope from the binders, grunting when he couldn’t find the manila envelope he was looking for.

“Whatcha looking for, squirt?” Jien asked from behind, slurping on a mug of coffee as he watched Goku scatter and rummage through the piles of papers.

“Uh, a manuscript—um. I can’t find it… Sanzo entrusted it with me and I can’t find it—oh shit—”

Shrugging, Jien looked at the mess, then at the sniffling assistant muttering curses under his face mask. Idly picking up a folder and placing it back on the cluttered corner, Jien suggested, “Have you checked everywhere? Dude, maybe you left it in your place or something.”

Plopping a binder on his desk, Goku raised a finger and looked at a distance, his mouth gaping at Jien’s words. “You know what, maybe you’re right. I-I’ll go head there right now. Oh, fuck—” He took out his phone and glanced at the time, “And I have to remind Sanzo that he has a meeting in three hours. Shi—okay, thanks, Jien!”

Goku jogged away from a smiling Jien, and gave him one last holler of thanks before exiting the office.

* * *

Sanzo looked over at the papers he had printed out, nodding at the lack of errors. Sighing as he chucked it into a folder and plopped it on his desk, he glanced at the wall clock.

It was way past Goku’s limit to give him the manuscript.

Plus, Goku was supposed to return to accompany Sanzo to Keiun.

He looked at his phone, and found numerous missed calls and voicemails from his aunt. Cursing, he shoved his phone back in his pocket and clicked his tongue.

“Where the fuck is he?”

Jutting his lip and growling in irritation, he slammed his office door open, prepared to yell at the nearest person when he saw several pairs of eyes dart to him in shock and fear.

Furrowing his brow, Sanzo scoffed at the sudden silence. Before he had opened the door, he could’ve sworn he heard a lot of commotion and yelling. “What are you looking at?”

Silence fell in the office, and some of them hid behind their cubicles. Some, like his secretaries, bowed and avoided his gaze with barely hidden shivers. Jien, from what Sanzo observed, stood stock-still, his face pale and beaded with sweat from his brow. Yaone and her fellow representatives were the same, their shoulders squared and concealing the involuntary jerks with each breath.

And in the middle of the mess of an office was Gojyo, his jaw tensed as he bowed his head, and darted his eyes left and right, his fists clenching as he tried not to give up on standing with his knees shivering under Sanzo’s stare.

“Why the fuck are you here and not at your post?”

Gojyo could hear his heart beating and his blood pumping through his ears. He gulped, and tried in vain to wipe the cold sweat from his shaking palms.

From around him, he could tell that Kinzan’s subordinates were also feeling the same. Wanting to feel the earth shatter from beneath him and swallow him whole seemed to be the best option, and being killed in a dark alleyway seemed to be a very promising end to his life at the moment.

Shivering in cold was better than shivering in fear. 

“…ku, he…”

Sanzo clicked his tongue, and tapped his foot on the floor as he crossed his arms, “I can’t hear you, punk.”

Wincing at the demeaning name, he deemed it as a faux calm before the storm, and Gojyo willed to level his breathing as he dug his toes deeper in his shoes—to keep him from stumbling through the sudden dizziness. He felt his mouth run dry as he glanced at his older brother, who had the same look of fear as him, and Gojyo took a deep breath—

“Goku… he…”

* * *

Slamming the door open, Sanzo gritted his teeth when he saw Goku’s apartment looking exactly as it was on the times he had visited Goku during his sick days. Nothing looked out of place. The kitchen was tidy. No stray utensils were scattered on the floor; the knives were still in their sheaths—

Everything was in place.

Except for the scattered shoes and slippers on the entryway.

Ordering Gojyo to stay put by the doorway, Sanzo marched to Goku’s room and saw struggle everywhere.

Books from the lone shelf near the door were strewn about on the floor, its covers and pages torn and stepped on by dirty footprints. Goku’s Curve laid on the floor, discarded along with the detached magazine filled with bullets. By the work desk, Goku’s laptop laid broken on the floor, its screen shattered with a bullet. Beside it was an overturned swivel chair, along with one of the drawers wide open, its contents that of manuscripts from the recent authors.

Swallowing the lump in his throat, his vision began to blur, and he turned around to see something sticking out from under the bed. Gritting his teeth, Sanzo dragged out a large, plain and flattened box, its edges ripped completely from two sides.

“Gojyo!”

The sound of footsteps and muttered apologies drummed through Sanzo’s ears as Gojyo appeared behind him, the bodyguard’s face still damp with cold sweat. “Yeah?” he panted, gulping at the sight of the mess in the room.

“Who entered the premises?”

Gojyo’s eyes widened as he averted his gaze to the right, and gulped before he replied, “None that I’m not familiar of. Clients and agents kept coming and going as usual—sir.” Gojyo tried to play it off with a lopsided smile, and was met with a cold glare. He straightened his back, and heaved with stuttered breaths, “Um, although—there was an odd delivery truck this morning.”

“What?”

“They said you have requested for books to be delivered this morning—…sir.”

“Delivery only happens on Saturdays here, fucktwat.”

Gojyo’s face turned pale. “What?”

Snarling, Sanzo punched Gojyo in the face and stormed off, cocking his gun on his way out—

—only to stop when he noticed faint streaks of blood smeared on the doorjamb, the paint on the wall chipped from what Sanzo assumed were from fingernails. Looking down, he noticed even more streaks of blood, its traces trailing in an upward slope.

His breathing suddenly grew heavy as he thought of what might have happened to his bubbly assistant. He thought of where he could be, his condition—alive or dead—

—and he felt the heat of his body rising in the middle of the growing winter chill, beads of sweat dotting his forehead as his thoughts turned and surged with uncontrollable rage.

Goku was supposed to be with him today.

Goku wasn’t supposed to be in danger.

They were supposed to plan the following days searching for more clues to Houtou’s downfall.

Sanzo was supposed to make up to Goku for the past months by spoiling him with food and a new book.

Sanzo was supposed to lie with him at night and hold him close as to keep him from harm.

Sanzo was supposed to—!

Clenching his teeth, he blinked back tears he hadn’t realized he almost shed. With his fingers trembling, his forefinger slid on the trigger, and a growl ripped through his throat as he shot at the wall with bloody streaks—

—and for the first time in his life, Genjo Sanzo understood the sheer want and need to murder someone.


	13. Chapter 13

The pain that Sanzo had from his restraints to the headboard when he woke up was nothing to the pain he felt when remembered that someone was ripped from him.

Sanzo remembered the sounds of screaming and pained cries, and when he felt a tear slide down his temple, he realized that he was the one who had been screaming and crying in sleep.

Gulping lungfuls of air, he wheezed and winced from his dry and sore throat. He felt heaviness weighing in on his chest with each breath, felt his blood pumping throughout his body, every inch of him wanting to move through the ties that bound him—

For a moment, he had forgotten why he was in such a position—the sudden tears, the cold sweat, his inability to process even a single word, the feeling of something being torn from his chest, leaving him breathless and heavy-hearted with every loll of his head to the familiar walls of his room—

—and all came rushing back to him.

The smile. The impatience. The silence. The havoc brought upon Goku’s room. The blood.

The possibility that he might be in harm or possibly even dead.

Sanzo felt his heart stop as all the hairs in his body stood on end and felt his blood run cold at the mere thought.

A hiccup slipped past his lips as he looked at his bedside clock.

It was night. And he had yet to know where Goku was.

Growling, he struggled against his confines, ignoring the fabric tearing at his wrists and the lack of blood circulation to his hands—

The ticking of the clock felt like mockery to his ears—every second a growing gnawing at his being, every tick a ruthless stab to his gut—

He yelled Goku’s name and screamed until he went hoarse and felt blood seeping through his vocal chords. He pulled on his heavy restraints—a string of curses frothed from his mouth with each forceful tug, and when he heard the crack of the wood above him, he pulled harder.

* * *

The deafening cursing and screaming and ceaseless banging on the door made a bruised, yet stern-faced Goujun straighten his stance in front of it even more. In Sanzo’s living room, Kanzeon clutched onto her stomach as she fiddled with her laptop, and tracked down Goku’s phone—

“ _Hag, let me out! Where’s my fucking gun!?_ ” The unending thuds on the door made Goujun twitch, but he took no step back as the banging became more and more hurried—

“Let him be,” Kanzeon hollered as she kneaded her stomach. Beside her, Tama curled close to her thigh, her claws digging at the couch, and her green eyes narrowing at the laptop screen. With a tut, Kanzeon removed her earpiece, “He’ll end up killing everyone here if we let him loose. Bah, and to think he suspected everyone here as mental—”

The sound of something crashing against the door startled Goujun, followed by the sound of a gun cocking—

—he ducked, just in time for the door and the opposite wall to be peppered with bullets.

Gojyo, who had been lying prone on one of the sofas, craned his aching neck to see Goujun crouching away from the door leading to Sanzo’s room. He tried to get up until a peeved Hakkai pulled him back to his lap, and eyed Gojyo with a silent reprimand.

“I’m still tending to your bruises, Gojyo. Stay still, please—”

The sound of screamed curses, followed by the doorknob splitting and lolling to uselessness under Sanzo’s relentless assault, made Goujun reach for his P226 and raised it against the raging man.

The door slammed open, and cold, purple eyes slid over to guarded, scarlet ones—and the glimmer of gnashing teeth behind a scowl made Goujun almost falter.

Sanzo scoffed as he held tighter onto his PS90, its muzzle directed at the floor, his finger itching to pull the trigger at anyone who dared to stop him. “You—you... _dare_ to point your gun and stop _me_?”

“My apologies, President. But I am only following Miss Kanzeon’s orders. You are not to leave the premises if you are incapacitated and are currently lacking in good judgment.”

Sanzo’s eye twitched, and he quivered in bubbling ire. Pointing his gun at Goujun’s forehead, he spat, “Say that again to my face, I fucking dare you.” Goujun went silent, but kept his gun pointed at Sanzo. The blond growled, “Do I look like I’m fucking incapacitated to you?”

Goujun’s finger trembled on the trigger, his arm wanting to be freed from being raised against the very man that he should obey.

But—

“You knocked your bodyguard unconscious earlier, sir. You went on a rampage and threatened to kill Zakuro when you asked him about Goku’s whereabouts. And when he said he didn’t know anything, you punched him in the eyes and almost shot his ear, sir. You also punched Miss Kanzeon when she came over and tried to talk to you. You had to be knocked out so you couldn’t harm anyone, sir.”

Sanzo’s eyes narrowed, and he couldn’t recall anything as such. Sure, he had punched Gojyo earlier for neglecting his duty, but—

“Konzen, you’re not leaving this place until you get you head back on your shoulders.”

Sanzo snarled as he turned around to where Kanzeon leaned against the wall, her one hand still patting her stomach. “You’re the one who tied me down?”

“It’s necessary, Konzen. You maimed two of our men on your way out of the building. You couldn’t even see who was enemy and ally! How could you even think you can get to Goku if you’re like that!”

“Shut up and let me go!”

“I won’t let you harm yourself and others. Homura and his men are already tracking him down, so stay put and let them do the rest.” Kanzeon glowered at her nephew, and stared him down despite being taller than her.

He growled and opened his mouth to retort, a string of curses ready to spew forth—

“That is my order, Sanzo,” she breathed, her words a whispered plea to the suddenly stunned blond.

She rarely called him by his name—it had been so long since she had done it.

Kanzeon caressed her nephew’s cheek with a forced and sad smile, her droopy eyes mirroring Sanzo’s own. She bit her lip and nodded to herself, blinking away unshed tears—and she turned around, only for Sanzo to halt her with a firm and resolute no.

“I refuse to accept your order, Aunt. You can’t stop me. Not this time, at least. Let me go.”

Sanzo’s demand was quiet, yet firm, and it made Kanzeon stop in her tracks, and she almost mustered a smile and a cry from joy.

She faced him and his weary form, truly noticing his resignation for the first time—the shoulders drooping, the frown deepening, the eyes mirroring a silent want to be freed from the very place he had always called home—

Ah.

Her little nephew had truly changed.

“Sanzo,” she whispered, caressing his cheek once more, “have you found the meaning of ‘having nothing’? Is this truly what you want?”

The hand holding Kanzeon was surprisingly warm, gentle, and steady as Sanzo pulled it away from his face; and she realized—

—her sheltered and cold-hearted nephew was now gone, and it was all because of the child she raised as her own.

“Do I even have to answer that?” came his quiet reply, and Kanzeon shook her head, tears filling her eyes—

“Then go, Sanzo,” she mustered with a smile, and handed him his trusty M26. She noticed the slight quirk of a smile when the gun was placed in his hand. “Bring him back safely. I’ll be watching you.”

* * *

It had been ten hours since Goku went missing, and the sun had long set by the time Sanzo and his company arrived at the highway that the kidnappers took. There was already a plethora of officers scurrying about, all of them searching for clues around the large, toppled trucks in the middle of the highway, their contents filled with large and empty cardboard boxes. Looking below the bridge, there were more officers taking pictures of whatever clues they might find—

And inside one of the toppled trucks was Homura, frowning as he kicked some of the boxes aside and knelt beside a limp arm with blood pooling from the elbow.

Sanzo feared the worst, yet marched over to the man, ignoring the greetings from a man with scars and an eye patch over his right eye. “Did you find him?” he asked with a clipped tone, glaring at the arm hanging from the edge of the truck.

Homura glanced at Sanzo, and noted the deep lines permeating onto his brows. He sighed, readjusted his latex gloves, and shoved one of the boxes aside, revealing a man donned in a blue cap and jacket. He noticed Sanzo clenching his fist, and averted his gaze, and tutted. He rummaged inside his pocket, and handed Sanzo a ziplock bag with a phone inside.

“Check it. That’s his, isn’t it?”

Sanzo turned on the phone, and saw the familiar picture of Goku smiling while holding up Tama the calico cat, and on the left side was a badly, half-cropped face of a frowning Sanzo glaring at the camera—

“Anything else?” Sanzo muttered, his voice strangely calm as he opened the lock and fiddled with the phone’s contents, checking for any recordings and photos—a sliver of a clue about the kidnapper’s identity.

“None,” Homura breathed, and he gulped at the intensity of what he said. None. The leads seemed to be thinning out before his eyes, but—

“Zenon,” Sanzo muttered to the man he ignored a few minutes ago. The aforementioned man glanced at him, his one good eye reflecting amusement as he regarded the CEO with a laugh.

The skin around the man’s right eye wrinkled as he grinned and patted Sanzo on the back, “Finally noticing me, eh, Kinzan’s boss? Ah, if you’re asking for leads, it’s best to ask _her_. She knows everything.”

Snarling, Sanzo’s eye twitched at the grinning Zenon. He glanced at Homura, who looked away with his eyebrows raised and his lips clamped shut. The blond man’s jaw tensed as he looked around, and his sights landed on Goujun, who also looked away with guilt on his face. “Is there something else my dear old aunt _isn’t_ telling me?”

“I think it’s better if Miss Kanzeon herself would explain it to you,” Goujun asked, still not looking at the glaring man. “She wanted to tell it to you when you were done being… hostile. Earlier, that is.”

Sanzo scoffed, and stared at Goujun in disbelief. He looked from him, to Zenon, and to Homura, whose gazes all avoided him. “Why the fuck am I the only one who’s kept in the dark from all of this?” He darted his glare at his bodyguard, who seemed to fixate himself on whistling the dark sky away. “Undine, don’t tell me even you know about this?”

Gojyo glanced at Sanzo for the briefest of moments before looking away again, and took in a deep breath. “She told me not to tell you about it for now, boss. Not until you have calmed yourself down.”

Sanzo’s nostrils flared in anger, and wanted to scream at all of them. His grip on Goku’s phone tightened, his knuckles turning white as he felt a bead of sweat drip down his nape. Pinning his violet eyes at Zakuro, who seemed to be quiet throughout the whole ordeal, Sanzo approached him, and raised Goku’s phone to the tanned blond.

“Last chance to tell me while I’m still ‘level-headed’—do you have any knowledge about Goku’s kidnappers, lest of all his whereabouts?”

Chartreuse met amethyst, and Zakuro shook his head, his expression mirroring the same bubbling fury behind Sanzo’s eyes. “That young boy has been nothing but kind to me in my days of feeling worthless. Why would I take part in putting him in danger unless I’m insane?”

Sanzo searched any trace of betrayal behind Zakuro’s eyes, and found none. The tired, yellow-green eyes were bruised from Sanzo’s punches earlier. The man’s right ear sported a bandage, the gauze stained with the slightest hue of red from where Sanzo’s bullet had grazed him. The pale man clicked his tongue and looked away, to where a smiling Hakkai met his snarl.

“Sanzo, I have taken an indefinite time of leave until this mess is cleared up. Someone has to keep you in check while Goku is away. Ah, and don’t worry. Kanan is in charge for the meantime. She’ll do just as good as I would if I were there, maybe even better. She is my sister, after all.”

Gojyo’s shoulders stiffened at the mention of the name. Hakkai’s twin sister could be quite the devil when scorned. “Please don’t remind me. Your sister almost maimed me.”

“That’s because you tried to make a pass on her, Gojyo— _in front of me_. And I’ll have you know I don’t appreciate that,” Hakkai huffed, giving Gojyo a sidelong glance and a frown. Gojyo, sensing the mood change in the doctor, held his hands up in defense—

“Okay, okay, sorry, ’Kai! ...um—right. Give me a kiss...?”

The sudden smack of Goku’s phone hitting Gojyo square in the nose made the redhead spew curses. “Geh—what the fuck’s your problem, asshole—!?”

“You’re not going to fucking make out and start your shit in front of me, you shithead.”

Hakkai cleared his throat as Sanzo whipped out his gun to Gojyo’s head. “Please, we’re on a mission. Try to stay focused—this is why we went with you. Can’t have you harming yourself when you haven’t seen Goku yet.”

Sanzo fell silent, glared at Hakkai, and swallowed a rumbling growl in his throat as he tucked his gun away.

Homura cleared his throat, fighting back a smile as he regarded Sanzo with amusement. He faced Zenon with a grin that didn’t quite reached his eyes, “Right. So now, Zenon, you’re in charge of the investigation. What are we to do now?”

* * *

Muffled growling could be heard from inside a cramped, bright cell. Inside, the sound of laughter bounced off the walls, yet failing to drown the sound of the snarling and growling from the sacked figure chained down to a metal chair.

The sack was ripped from the figure thrashing about, revealing a growling Goku, with his lip swollen as a faint trace of blood dripped to his chin.

The laughter continued when a hand came up to touch Goku on the face, only for the mirth to stop when Goku chomped on the man’s finger, and didn’t stop until he heard and felt it crack under his teeth. The man tried to tear his hand away, and Goku grinned as he ground his teeth deeper into the flesh and bone—

“Aah, that’s what you get for trying to rile up the little assistant.”

Goku glared at another man by the cell door, yet didn’t stop gnawing at the hand in his mouth, even when the owner of the said hand kept hitting him on the head.

“You,” the man pointed at the guard standing by, “stop that racket. And by racket, I mean make him stop screaming. It hurts my ears.”

The guard bowed and obeyed, and seemed to look apathetic when he pointed a rifle at the screaming man, and shot him in the head—

—Goku released the mangled hand on instinct, and watched, wide-eyed with horror, as the man’s brains spilled to the floor and to his bloodied feet—

“You killed your own guard? What kind of a sick bastard are you?” spat Goku, and he suppressed a shiver as he was met with a narrow-eyed stare and a glib smile—all from the man that Goku had once known—

“…No way. Aren’t you—?”

* * *

Sanzo glared down at Kanzeon’s computer screen, his piercing stare met with a collected smile and amused eyes that rivalled Sanzo’s own purple eyes. From behind him, Homura stood with a grin held back.

“You mean to tell me,” Sanzo started, pointing a finger at a little red dot on the screen, “that the thing that had been hanging around Goku’s neck for how many years now… is a fucking _tracking device_? Is that why you know where I am all the time?”

Kanzeon hid her laugh behind manicured fingers, and regarded her nephew with a trace of pride, “Yes, Konzen, that’s how I know. Handy, isn’t it? Be grateful it’s a tracking device, and not a tapping device. Or else I would’ve heard a _ton_ of juicy information between you and my child.”

Sanzo glowered at her, his hands balling into fists as she beamed wide—

Kanzeon dismissed her nephew’s bubbling ire with a wave of a hand, and leaned back on her chair. “But then I figured it’d be better if it were a normal tracking device, instead of a wiretapping one. It was a custom-made gift originally meant for you—so I can locate you and give you my sagely advice about Kinzan when needed, but you didn’t take it, and—”

“—I gave it to Goku instead… wait.” Sanzo whirled around, and glared at a beaming Homura, “You knew about this and didn’t even tell me?”

This time, Homura showed him his wide grin, and mockingly bowed, “I tried telling you once, but you cut me off, Konzen. But never you mind, what’s important now is that we know Son Goku’s alive. I initially thought we were out of leads, but… Never mind that. The question now is, how those trucks all turned over, with only one man dead.”

Sanzo looked peeved, with lips clamped shut, and brows curled downwards, and turned to face his aunt, “And how can we be sure he’s alive? You just said that it’s not a listening device, so how can we know he’s still alive?”

“It responds with body heat—it adjusts to the temperature of the wearer,” Kanzeon said with a coy smile. Sanzo’s brow rose in both confusion and sudden interest, and she laughed. “There’s a reason why I always tell him to never take it off, you know. If there’s even the slightest chance that it’s taken off, I’ll know. It’ll notify me immediately, and therefore, I’ll send backup to wherever he was last seen.”

“Well, you should have told me that in the first place that he’s alive!”

At this, she tutted, and spoke in deadpan, “Konzen, please. That’s why I called you so many times before your supposed meeting in Keiun. You didn’t answer my calls. And when I came over to you, you immediately started punching my gut. I had to make sure those trucks that came in earlier were the ones who took Goku, so I had Homura pull his strings on Zenon. Turns out I was right. Plus, you got Goku’s phone back, right? Homura can be quite useful, no?”

Sanzo threw the smiling Homura a dirty glare, and snorted as he averted his gaze.

She glanced at her computer with a calm smile, an expression far different than Sanzo’s grim one. “Our cameras got footage of it—men in blue caps and jackets pulling boxes in carts. And among them were two, suspicious men pushing a cart of boxes tied down and around the cart. One of the men kept looking around while the other kept a firm hand on top of the boxes. I wonder why…?”

“Must be our targets, then. Tell me where he is,” Sanzo rumbled low, his right hand already reaching out to the gun in his coat.

Kanzeon eyed her nephew with a lilting smile, and nodded towards her monitor, “We must keep caution at all times, Konzen. Now, the location may be nearer than we think…”

* * *

Goku struggled to huff through his bloodied nose as a rough hand picked him up from the floor. From around the cramped cell, men who towered over him in both physique and stature loomed over his heaving form. In front of him, a burly man leered at his swollen face.

“Quite resilient, this little one. Been punching him for hours and is still conscious!”

A quiet laughter rang in the air as Goku heaved and prepared himself for another blow, when a man—sitting on a chair next to Goku—spoke.

“That’s enough. Let’s allow him to breathe for a bit. And you can leave for now.”

The large, stalwart man glanced at the smiling man sitting on the chair, then at Goku. “Be grateful, punk,” he said, and plopped Goku back on the floor. He nudged Goku’s foot one last time, and left the cell with a sharp glare at the heaving lump.

Once the heavy footsteps faded, the smiling man nudged Goku’s chin with his shoe, and his smile widened into that of a grin. “Does it hurt? How does it feel to be trampled on? You know that’s nothing compared to what you did. You killed one of my men while you were tied up, and caused all ten trucks to turn into tossed kebabs. What do you have to say for that, huh?” the man dug his foot a tad harder to Goku’s skull, causing him to look up at the man with mirth on his eyes as he mustered a toothy grin—

“Heh. Don’t talk about kebabs right now. I’m getting hungry.”

The man grew flustered at the words, and the bizarre reaction from the brunet had taken him aback, “What the—”

He looked at the wide, unsettling leer on the swollen and bloodied face, and the gleeful, yet almost maniacal look in those golden eyes sent shivers down his spine—

—the chair that the man sat on toppled backwards with a loud thud as he stood up, and stepped away from the bloodied mess laughing quietly on the floor, shoulders shaking with giggles even as the man delivered a kick to Goku’s ribs.

The man exited the jail cell, his jaw tensing up as he ordered a man standing outside to lock Goku up.

He came up to the end of the bright hallway, where Dr. Ni leaned against the wall, smiling the seconds away as he puffed on a cigarette. “Got a hard time dealing with the kid?” Dr. Ni asked, grinning as he tucked his glasses back to his eyes. “You can call it quits if you can’t do it, you know. From the looks of it, he has more experience in this area than—”

Sharp, taupe gray eyes slid to dark brown ones, and Dr. Ni laughed at the man’s grim face.

“Oh my. Did I hit a nerve? Haha…! …ah, it’s okay, it’s okay. Do your own thing,” Dr. Ni said with a nonchalant shrug. He leaned away from the wall, aware of the eyes that followed his every move—and swooped his face in front of the man’s. “But don’t forget _I_ am the reason you’re still alive. Not your boss, not the kid in that cell—but _me_. Look at me that way again and I’ll gauge your eyes out, got it?”

The man swallowed the bile eating up at his throat, and took a deep breath before he replied with a breathless, “Yes, sir.”

Dr. Ni gave the man a crooked smile, and spat out his cigarette stub at his feet, crushing it with the sole of his shoe. “Good. Genjo Sanzo is not the only one capable of torturing people, you know. Then again, I won’t be surprised if you haven’t been in the loops. He never trusted you in the first place, anyway, with the way you went about—”

He grabbed at the man’s unkempt hair that reached past his shoulders, and yanked the black strands back. “—am I right?”

* * *

Once the sun rose, the usually open company of Kinzan stood surrounded by a plethora of men armed with shields and helmets and guns tucked in their holsters. Nearby, several armored cars were parked near the entrance, its drivers standing just outside the vehicles, their guns at the ready in their gloved hands. The employees of the general class, all whose demeanors were usually of the friendlier kind, entered Kinzan today with stone-cold faces, all whose gestures and conversations seemed clipped and abrupt and tense. The usual throng of clients and agents who flocked the building on the early hours of office stood outside the building as they were all denied entry for the first time, and they went stock-still upon hearing the news—that a trusted Kinzan employee had been taken away from under the president of Kinzan’s nose.

The news traveled far within a few hours, spreading to the nearby bookstores and the cafés and restaurants, with a number of Kinzan’s supporters coming to the building to show their support to the company, bringing in letters to any Kinzan employee. Its adversaries, too, came to inquire in silence, dissecting any piece of information they could get.

Inside the building, the high-strung gentry formed in rows in front of the office of the 23rd floor, and bowed low to a weary and seething Genjo Sanzo, who paid no attention to anyone that dared to look at him. Behind him, an expressionless Homura followed suit, his blue and golden eyes unblinking as he stared at the back of Sanzo’s head.

From the corner of Sanzo’s eye, he saw a few male employees with brown hair. He closed his eyes, and thought he had heard a familiar voice calling to him, and for a split second, he thought everything had been a bad dream—but then, when he noticed that their skin held whiteness to that of his own, and were a tad taller than him, he gritted his teeth and strode away from the bowing rows of people.

He didn’t know who to trust anymore.

Outside the door to Sanzo’s office, Yaone stood with her hands faced down against her lap, smiling as she moved to the side and bowed in greeting to the blond despite the apparent lack of joy reflected in her eyes. Homura hummed when he noticed two pistols hanging from her waist, both tucked in their holsters, and when he took a quick whiff as he passed her by, he smelled a strong scent of gunpowder from her clothes and hair—things that the usually meek woman never did. Sanzo, however, paid her no attention, and went inside the office without a word. Homura, though, smiled at her.

“Thank you for your hard work with the armory,” he said with a nod, and Yaone looked up, and finally mustered a smile that reached her ears.

“Thank you, too, Mr. Homura. For taking care of the president when…” she glanced at the office, where Sanzo stood with his back turned to them, glaring at the outside of the window. She didn’t finish her sentence, and Homura nodded in silence, and gave her a tight-lipped smile as he patted her on the shoulder.

“We’ll find him. We have to. Or that man will go insane.”

Yaone nodded, and wiped an unshed tear from the corner of her eye. He bade her a curt bow, and went inside, shutting the door behind him.

“You’ve gathered quite a stir outside, Konzen. Some even gave you letters,” Homura let out with a hollow laugh. “Want me to read them?”

“Burn them, if you want,” Sanzo huffed as he took puff after puff of cigarette, each drag getting deeper with each passing second. He turned around, letting a cloud of smoke from his lips, its silvery wisps wafting over to where Homura stood in front of the desk, his nose scrunched up at the smell. “What are your thoughts in blowing up Houtou?”

“As much as I want every bone of my body to go there and rip all of them a new one, we still have no tangible evidence that they did it—”

“Fuck you and your thoughts.”

“Hey, you asked for my opinion, and I gave it to you—”

“Shut up.”

Homura wiped a bead of sweat from his brow and held back a string of brash thoughts against the blond. Try as he might to prod on Sanzo’s wounds, he knew his words would also stab him back. “You’re not the only one who’s hurting in all of this, Konzen,” he muttered, looking away when the purple eyes darted to him.

“If you’re talking about your unprofessed love for the monkey, then I say you should say it to someone else. I won’t hand him over to anyone.”

Homura scoffed, a rush of coldness washing over his body as he heard the words, and before he knew it, his ugly thoughts spilled into even uglier words—

“Well, I see how well you handled that one.”

It took him a moment to recover before he realized the swiftness of the fist that slammed straight to his jaw, throwing him on the floor with a loud thud.

From the outside, a few of the editors glanced at the clear panes beside the office door, and looked away when Sanzo glared at them. He returned his attention to a laughing Homura, and clicked his tongue at the sight of the bloodied lip. “You sick fucker.”

Homura’s heaving laughs rang louder as he laid flat on the floor, and looked up at Sanzo, who remained looking down at him with a scowl. “Look at you, Konzen. Look at the man you have become.”

“What are you—”

“Two years ago, you told me not to drag Kinzan down with something as petty as revenge. And now—now you seek to blow an entire company down even if we have no shred of concrete evidence, and you’re taking out your anger at people for your own, sick liking—”

Homura grinned, and ignored the blood dripping from his lip to his cheek as Sanzo lifted him up by the collar, their noses close as he gave those boiling, violet eyes an amused smile and raised brows—

“Tell me, Konzen. _Who is blinded by a fucking revenge plot now?_ ”

* * *

Goku creaked his eye open, and saw nothing but blinding light from outside of his cell. He closed his eyes once more, and rolled over to his side, and faced the wall, and noticed that he was lying on the floor. Huffing, he muttered to himself, “ _They didn’t even put me in the bed while I was out cold. Those jerks._ ” He turned around, and squinted through the light, and noticed a man guarding his cell, sitting on a chair with his head lolling to one side.

He didn’t know how many hours or days it had been since he slept, but for his stomach, it felt like an eternity.

He checked his hands, and noticed heavy shackles chained on his wrists. He waved his hand around, trying to gauge how heavy it was, and smiled at the heavy weight. He nudged his toes to his other foot, and felt similar shackles attached around his ankles. He hummed, and touched his face, and winced when his fingertip grazed his left cheekbone. Fighting back a curse, Goku then inspected the faint red stains and the small tears on his clothes. His favorite yellow necktie was askew, a few of the buttons of his shirt were missing, his cufflinks were gone—

—he patted his neck, and felt the golden chain still wrapped around his neck, its weight a strange comfort despite the aches from his body.

Goku swallowed back a cough as he touched a sore spot on his neck, and shook his head slowly a few times, checking if there were any shots of pain when he moved, and felt none. Nodding to himself, he scanned the cell he was in, and noticed that yes—

—he had been moved to another cell while he was out cold.

He had been in a cell with a floor of roughened cement when he first came in, but now, there was none. Instead of hard, cold concrete, he was met with a more forgiving floor with tatami. At the corner of the wall was a camera that stood out, following Goku’s every move, and at the far side of the wall was a laid out futon. Upon the small entry laid his shoes.

The lack of windows in his cell didn’t serve much help.

Goku huffed as he struggled to sit, and immediately patted for his phone, his face paling when he realized it wasn’t in any of his pockets. He turned to give the sleeping guard a dirty glare, and wanted to break his neck, but fought against it.

The figure of a man decked in a white suit walked by, and stopped in front of Goku. The brunet noticed him immediately, with those wayward, black locks, that scruffy beard, and that permeating stink of cigarettes. Goku tensed up when Ni Jien Yi held the cell bars with his calloused fingers, and gave the man a stern glare.

“Enjoying your stay so far?” asked Dr. Ni, grinning at the scowl etched on Goku’s face.

“You’re the one who had me kidnapped? What did I even do to you?” Goku spat out, growling when Dr. Ni flattened his forehead against the bars, grinning madly still. His blood ran cold, however, when Dr. Ni took out a set of keys from his suit pocket, and opened the cell, whistling as he ventured into Goku’s small space. When Dr. Ni took off his shoes and stepped onto the tatami, Goku dragged himself on his elbows, fighting back a wince as he felt a stab of pain in his ribs when he took a sudden gasp.

The man tutted, shook his head, and bent low, facing Goku with the same smug grin. He eyed the teen’s form—from the swollen lips, to the bobbing throat, to the exposed sternum and ridges of his ribcage—all of that that was Goku, Dr. Ni took in.

And a shiver ran down Goku’s spine when a rough fingertip tilted his chin upwards, and met Ukoku’s malicious gaze.

“So, _this_ is who the great Genjo Sanzo dotes on? Hm,” he raised his brow, nudged Goku’s head this way and that, and laughed. “Gotta admit, you do look somewhat childlike. Say, boy—” He leered down at the unmoving teen as he leaned to the shell of Goku’s ear, “—are you _that_ desperate not to get kicked out of your only home that you resort to sucking your boss’s cock and his aunt’s jugs every night?”

The response was immediate.

With growl and a yell, Goku laid out his palm to the floor, and whipped a swift kick to Dr. Ni’s chin, making sure that the chain around his ankle smacked hard against the side of the man’s jaw. He then launched himself on all fours, fingertips clawed and ready to attack. The blood pumped in his ears. Gone was his physical pain as he felt all of his senses heightened. His eyes darted around, looking for a chance to escape from the cell. His ears were on alert for any sound of distant footsteps or weapons being carried around. He hunched his back and stretched out his left leg, ready to strike once more. Ukoku moved to take his glasses that have been knocked to the floor from the kick. The sound of laughter—scratchy and grating on Goku’s sensitive ears—made him gnash his teeth as the man stood up, and looked down at him with an amused, tight-lipped smile.

“Haha—you’re good. Really good. You know, not many people have done that and lived to tell the tale. But,” he paused, took a step forward as Goku drew his feet and hands back, and bared his teeth as Dr. Ni rubbed his glasses on his suit, and slid them back to his face. “Will you still be alive, I wonder, if you get to have a fellow inmate?”

“What are you—”

The distant sound of footsteps fell on Goku’s ears, and his skin prickled as Ukoku took a step back and another man entered the cell. This man was different from the one who gave him his injuries, although they had the same, black hair, this man had a stubble, and a cocky grin.

Goku had a hard time pinning down the face of the man before him. This new man had yet to speak, opting to make a quiet groan in his throat as he smiled at Goku.

“Hey there, Kyuu. Remember me?”

The tension on Goku’s shoulders eased up the slightest as he squinted, and ended up parting his lips, at a loss for words.

“Godworks, remember? You were the newbie, and I needed help with the door.”

Goku frowned, and tensed up all the same. The memories of when he had once entered Godworks in search of Kami resurfaced in his mind, and he felt bile blooming anew in his throat.

Goku thought that him being recognized was impossible. He had thought his disguise was flawless—no one would ever remember him once he left.

“Shuuei,” he breathed, his hairs standing on end and feeling the blood drain from his face as he heard Ukoku muffling his laugh.

The doors to the cell were closed once more, and Dr. Ni leaned on the bars, his grin wide and toothy as Shuuei took out a silk rope from the pockets of his slacks, and shook off his suit in a few seconds, causing Goku to attack Shuuei, only for the brunet to be grabbed by the ankle and thrown against the wall.

“Please don’t be too reckless,” came the voice to Goku’s ear—

—and Goku raised his head to Shuuei’s neck, and gnawed on the man’s shoulder, the canines tearing at the fabric of the shirt he wore.

Ukoku watched the scene, chortling as Shuuei swallowed a pained cry as he ripped Goku away from his flesh, and tossed him to the floor. Letting out a low whistle as Shuuei towered over the heaving teen, Dr. Ni backed away from the cell, tapped the guard on the shoulder, and left Shuuei and Goku alone.

* * *

Kanzeon felt a strange cold come over her the following morning, on the second day of Goku’s disappearance. Something felt amiss when she woke up in her too spacious of a bed. She felt suddenly detached of her surroundings, felt the air caving in around herself as she clutched her chest, and felt it beat against her cold and sweaty palm. She gulped, and felt her throat parched. She called for Jiroushin, who arrived immediately to her room at the sound of the bell. She asked for a glass of water, and a trip to her nephew.

She strode straight to her office in a sheer, white babydoll as Jiroushin made the preparations, and checked to see her laptops, which haven’t been taking a rest since Goku’s disappearance.

In the screens were maps of streets and several screens of camera footage in Kinzan, and she felt her heart stop at the sight of something that should have been there.

Once the preparations were set, Kanzeon and Jiroushin headed out to Kinzan in a hurry. Her aide opted not to speak the whole time during the ride, sensing the dread in his mistress’s usually bubbly façade.

They made their way to Kinzan, its vicinity still surrounded by people armed and alert, keeping some of its supporters at bay. Jiroushin alerted some of the guards of the vice president’s presence, and made enough space for the car to go through the people and past the gates.

Quick in her strides as soon as she got out of the car, Kanzeon, for once, didn’t stop to smile and return her subordinates’ greetings to her as she passed them by, and went to the elevator. Pressing the button straight to the 23rd floor, Jiroushin finally asked his mistress about the matter—

“Is it about Son Goku?” he asked with a nervous glance at her furrow-browed countenance. He gulped when she didn’t reply, and opted to bite her lip as she crossed her arms instead of answering. Jiroushin nodded to himself, and looked straight at the doors—for once, she looked exactly like her nephew, with her rage bubbling to burst any minute.

He felt sweat beading on his temples, and he patted them dry as Kanzeon tapped her foot in impatience. The doors opened, and Jiroushin had to keep his pace behind Kanzeon’s long strides. Bowing in return to some of the visibly armed editors they passed by, he huffed as they reached the president’s office.

Upon opening the door unannounced, however, they expected to hear the escalating arguments between Sanzo and Homura, and occasional interruptions from Gojyo, sure, but they were not expecting to see Dr. Cho, of all people, to be in the building, also arguing with the two.

“It’s not him!”

“Sanzo, I know it’s hard to accept now, but—”

“Hakkai, if you say one more word, I’ll throw you out of the fucking window. Even if it means dragging Gojyo down with you.”

“What?! Hey!”

“Dr. Cho, did you even check any potential marks that might identify him as—”

“Homura, shut the fuck up. It’s not Goku!”

“But the signs—!”

“The signs show _nothing_ , Hakkai. You’re mistaken. It’s not him.”

This time, Kanzeon cleared her throat and knocked at the door. The arguing stopped, and the tension in the room fell to a temporary halt as all eyes fell on her. She didn’t act with her usual flamboyance as she crossed the room and stood in front of her distraught nephew. “Goku’s necklace is not responding. It disappeared on the—huh? What’s this?”

Blinking at the pile of pictures on the desk, Kanzeon frowned as she took one, and upon immediately covered her mouth and gagged as she released it from her hand. Jiroushin and Hakkai were quick to comfort her, patting her on the back and giving her a glass of water. Sanzo, on the other hand, slid the picture of the body with a smashed skull back to her line of vision as soon as she recovered.

“Tell me. Do you think this is Goku? Because I know for the fact that it’s not.”

She heaved as she steadied herself on her feet, and upon hearing Goku’s name, she went still and paled—

“Sanzo—my child—Goku’s necklace had been removed. And this thing around his neck—”

The sound of Sanzo slamming his hands on his desk stopped her from speaking, and he glared at his aunt as he quivered in his stance, and struggled with words to say, but found none. He looked down, and noticed out that, yes, there was a golden necklace around the body’s neck, but it could be similar, and then—

“Sanzo,” Hakkai started, his voice leveled and quiet as he gauged Sanzo’s reaction, “the tattoo on the body’s stomach is like that of Goku’s.”

“Not him,” the blond gritted out, fighting back the urge to punch everyone in the face. “I know him when I see him even from afar. That’s not Goku. The hands are not his, the placement of the ink is off, a curve on one of the sun’s rays above his navel is not right, the scar under his rib is not there—everything’s not right.”

Hakkai blinked, then looked down at the picture—the autopsy showed that the body was that of a male in his twenties based on the dental records and—

“Sanzo, how do you—”

“I know his body inside and out, Hakkai. Let’s leave it at that.” Sanzo averted his gaze from everyone, harrumphed, and walked out of the office, feeling disturbed at having his private life exposed with a few words. But he also felt relieved at letting it all out, convinced that the dead person lying in the morgue was not Goku.

A few of the editors met his eyes, and they bowed. Returning the greeting with a slow blink, he then turned to Yaone and his other secretaries.

“Rally the gentry. Houtou dared to pick a fight with us.”

Yaone looked at the other secretaries, a quiet fright falling upon their eyes. “President, what exactly do you mean?”

The door opened and Kanzeon was quick to interfere before Sanzo could even speak. The quiet rage that had been building up inside her since this morning fueled into an unquenchable need to harm those who tried to mess with her favorite child—

With a booming voice that shocked even those at the far back of the office, Kanzeon let out a sharp command—

—of declaring war against Houtou for making a mockery out of them.


End file.
